


It's funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving

by holmesiironman



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellamy and Clarke are broken souls wHO BELONG TOGETHER PEOPLE, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, High School AU, M/M, Protective Bellamy, Underage Drinking, cuteness, it's just v AU kay, references to domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesiironman/pseuds/holmesiironman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU + *Runner-up in the 2015 Bellarke High School Fanfic AU awards*</p><p>Clarke Griffin is an ice queen with an apparent heart of stone and a secret to hide<br/>Bellamy Blake is the high school jock with a flare for passion and has a way of breaking down Clarke's walls<br/>In the beginning they kinda strongly dislike each other but ofc that won't last<br/>They are my little broken toys<br/>Pls bare in mind that I am English and I have tried my best to think American<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A regulation hottie

**Author's Note:**

> SHOUTOUT TO the_sky_is_forever FOR PROOF READING ILY  
> this is so much fun to write  
> R&R is appreciated but no hard feelings  
> Happy reading :)

Chapter 1:

Groaning in both agony and irritation, Clarke dragged her exhausted body off the floor for what must have been the 40th time that practice and stretched out her arms over her head. Pain coursed through her body, radiating from her right hip and diffracting out across the right side of her abdomen. Wincing, her hand involuntarily shot down from its previous position above her head and clutched at her bruised hip which had taken the brunt of her latest fall. She longed for a hot bath and a coffee. Her bones hurt. Her muscles hurt. Damn even her organs hurt. But she had to perfect this move. It was her ticket into Nationals and, coupled with a few other extravagant tricks, her best bet at winning 750$. And boy did they need that 750$.

Inhaling deeply, she let her tired eyes flutter shut momentarily so as not to lose focus. Gymnastics was her stress release. Always had been. It was her place to go when things got rough. She could easily lose herself in the calming spins around the bars or the rapid flips, cartwheels and tucks routine she had perfected in 7th grade.

She was good. Not in a vain way, not even in a way she understood, Clarke Griffin just knew she could perform at a higher level than anyone she had come up against. Coach insisted she was a natural. It brought in desperately needed money anyway, through competitions and that. Even though they were a well-off family, living in the ‘posher’ part of town in a 6 bedroom house, she needed that money. Lately, that was all Clarke really cared about: performing well enough to earn the next check and pushing herself past her limits in order to book the first plane out of there, away from him.

It was sad really. If she thought about the past for longer than the couple of seconds she usually allowed herself, the familiar ache in her chest would drown her, sending her reeling with nostalgia and awakening the pit of despair in her stomach she had wearily forced down for the last 6 years. That’s why she didn’t let herself. That’s why, as she stood there in that cold gym, alone at 7pm on a Wednesday night, she stopped herself from thinking about that 750$.

Stopped herself contemplating about why she really competed anymore.

Stopped herself asking _why her_.

Stopped herself worrying about whether he would come home drunk tonight.

Stopped herself feeling…. Stopped herself feeling.

All that mattered was the gymnastics.

Inhaling again, she leaned the upper half of her body over, arms wrapping around her straight legs, head touching her knees. Bent double like a ragdoll, she exhaled calmly, forcing her eyes to remain shut in an attempt to block out anything that wasn’t the pull in the back of her thighs or the tickling of her pony-tail on the tops of her feet or the expansion of her chest as she heaved in another breath. Suddenly, her aura of serenity was pierced by a high-pitched wolf whistle, followed by a chorus of chanting and laughter that she just knew, without even opening her eyes, was Mount Weather High School’s very own lacrosse team. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she took her time straightening herself up in time to a chorus of God-awful chat-up lines and more whistles from the direction of the gym entrance.

Whilst trying her best to keep in the shadows with her ‘normal’ friends and their ‘normal’ school activities, being a “regulation hottie”(in the words of one of her closest friends Jasper) meant her name was a common one, well known by both her fellow Juniors and Seniors like those on the Lacrosse team.

Only once she was standing up straight did she open her eyes whilst rolling her neck around to ease the knots that had settled around her spine from constantly being tense. Still blatantly ignoring the group of horny jocks all dressed in their jerseys waving and clashing their sticks together in a desperate attempt to win her attention, she continued her stretches as if her peace hadn’t been disturbed at all. It was easy to pretend they weren’t there. It had become a part of her routine since the fall now that it was apparently “too cold” for the team to train outside. She was now instructed by Head Teacher Jaha to share the frigging gym every night. All she was waiting for now was King Shit himself to come swaggering over to her, all gorgeous abs and puppy-dog eyes, flashing that drop-dead grin that could (and probably had) dropped panties.

As if on cue, the ruckus by the door settled as the captain made his appearance. The group of arrogant players parted like the red sea as he walked through them. Silence fell. As if he was Jesus Christ himself and they were his loyal disciples. Clarke couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was drama.

And Bellamy Blake was all about drama.

Captain of the Lacrosse team, top of pretty much all of his classes and possibly the fittest boy in his year, Bellamy Blake seemed to have it all. Even with his “desirable” reputation as a heartbreaker (desired by his stud wannabe’s that is), Bellamy always seemed to have a posse of gooey-eyed teenage girls (from both his grade and Clarke’s) following him around school, fainting if he so much as winked at them. It seemed his charm was awe-inspiring (working him out of multiple detentions (especially from female professors)), his humour mesmerising (he always seemed to have the fellow jocks and slutty cheerleaders he associated himself with in hoots of laughter) and his smile intoxicating. Not even Clarke’s genius best friend Raven was immune.

“I’d ride that bike all the way to fucking China Town,” she once murmured to Clarke one boring lunch in the cafeteria where they found themselves observing Bellamy and his best mate/co-captain Nathan Miller peel off their tops in a mock strip-tease to reveal toned and tanned torsos. It was safe to say that Bellamy Blake had a real way with women, managing to somehow coax a different one into his bed every week. But then of course, in typical jock style, after a couple days, he’d drop them like a sack of shit, leaving them snivelling messes in the girls’ bathroom for at least the next 2 weeks. Ergo: heartbreaker.

In Clarke’s opinion, it was all rather pathetic.

Then again, she’d long ago learnt that the best way to not get your heartbroken was to pretend you didn’t have one. If there was one thing Clarke knew how to do, it was how to minimalize pain.

So she deemed herself above all that.

There was one girl, however, that was different than all the rest, one girl that Bellamy was sure to put above everything in his life. His little sister Octavia. Whilst only in Clarke’s year, Bellamy doted on her every need like she was still in the 4th grade. For some reason, this loving-big-brother thing only had girls drooling even more over him. Clarke, however, was having none of it.

Whilst she appreciated his breath-taking good looks, she found herself becoming more and more exasperated with this new arrangement and, by extension, Blake himself. She didn’t have time for this interruption. She had to have this routine finalised and committed to memory for 3 weeks’ time.

Bracing herself as he neared her matt, she noticed that his gang of mutts had started hollering to him again, urging him to get rid of her so they could start practice. Smiling breezily, he turned, pace never faltering but instead walking backwards towards her, so as to reassure his friends that he had this covered. Lips pinched into a thin line, Clarke squared her throbbing shoulders and lifted her chin slightly. Having been in this position several times before, she knew that he was at least a head and a half taller than her being 1 year older than her with and athletic build and all. With seemingly no understanding of the words ‘personal space’, Bellamy was suddenly right there in front of her, causing her to crane her neck. He eased her a toothy smile like she had just said the funniest thing.

She knew that smile.

Hell everybody knew that smile.

It was the effortless charmer he used to bribe teachers, flirt with girls and win the hearts of parents just like that.

Because everybody loved Bellamy Blake. And he knew it.

Urghh he was so full of himself! So sure that he could get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. But Clarke knew better. Life was shit. It was unfair and she wasn’t leaving this gym until 8:30, in pain or not.

“Hey there Princess,” he began in his usual, surprisingly soft tone. Setting her eyes with a glaze of defiance, she crossed her arms over her breasts with a bounce, biting the inside of her cheeks when a stab of pain overcome her. He couldn’t help but draw his eyes to her now apparent cleavage thanks to her baby pink tank top, a smirk drawn all over his beautifully tanned skin. Clearing her throat so as to get his attention, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to speak clearly, not wanting to alert him to the pain she was feeling or the exhaustion that threatened to claim her, in fear that he would grasp it and wield it as a weapon against her in their regular fight of ‘who gets the gym for the next hour and a half’.

“A) I told you not to call me that Bellamy, B) don’t look at what you can’t afford,” to this he raised an eyebrow, his smile now threatening to split his face as if he found this all so amusing, “and C)… it’s not happening but thanks for checking in!” That soon got rid of his smile. Flashing him her own cheeky grin, she waggled her fingers at him before spinning on her heels and walking away from where he still stood rooted in silence.

“WOAH WOAH WOAH.” He jogged to catch up with her when brought out of his revere, stepping into her path and forcing her to stop abruptly just inches from his very toned chest which, at her head-height, she could make out through his jersey. Mentally berating herself for getting side-tracked by his physique, she dragged her eyes up to his where she saw a frown was now set in place of his constant grin, putting one on her own pale face. Raising her eyebrows innocently, she clasped her hands in front of her and swayed from side to side like a schoolgirl, her whole persona now laced with sarcasm.

“Yes?” she enquired harmlessly, turning on her own puppy dog eyes and finishing off her look with a heavily exaggerated pout.

“Princess, it’s totally our turn and you know it! We have the league games starting in 3 weeks and we need this practice time!”

“Well I have Nationals in 3 weeks and I need this practice time!”

“There is a whole team of us here. There’s only one of you. Can’t go practice your pointless twirling in your pretty pink bedroom or something?”

“I’ve met a lot of pricks but you are a fucking cactus,” she seethed through gritted teeth. Her patience was wearing thin, worn down by lack of food, barely any sleep and a never ending feeling of sorrow.

“Oh jeez. Now I am offended.” Bellamy’s usually friendly tone now dripped with sarcasm.

“Look I said no. And I’m sure that’s not something you hear very often, but you can take your girl band,” she gestured vaguely to the group of guys still lingering at the entrance “and you can leave me the fuck alone.” Barging past him, her shoulder hitting his bicep, she allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief after hearing no counter argument. Coming to a stop by the bench where her bag was located, she undid the cap of her water bottle and took a swig, relishing the crisp cold that burned her throat.

That’s when she noticed it. The gym was quiet. Too quiet. Narrowing her eyes, she began to turn around to see what was going on when a pair of calloused hands gripped the exposed skin of her upper thigh, just below her light grey shorts and slung her over their shoulder. Dropping her water bottle as she cursed aloud in anguish, she was too stunned to say anything meaningful. Pain now ripped through her body freely as Bellamy began jogging over to his now active team-members, who were whooping in joy and running toward them both. Feeling like she’d been winded, Clarke watched as the boys swarmed around them, scattering into different directions like fallen leaves in the wind to begin their practice.

Only when they had surpassed the red double doors which signified the entrance to the gym did Bellamy put her down, that ridiculous grin now plastered back on his face.

Clarke, on the other hand, was not at all amused. She was fuming. But before that, she was breathless. Still in pain, she leant against the wall next to the entrance to the boy’s locker rooms. Strangely, there was something else besides the anger and pain though. Something she couldn’t believe she was feeling but she knew well from pre-comp jitters. Her stomach danced and flipped at the memory of how his firm muscles flexed around her and he lifted her with ease. Her face must have betrayed her conflicted emotions because now King Shit was crouching down in front of her, concern etched onto his handsome features.

“Are you okay, Princess?” In different circumstances, Clarke noted that she would actually love to draw him. A charcoal sketch on paper, water colours on canvas, even pencil on a Mcdonald’s napkin, anything! Taking a deep breath, she averted her eyes from his when she realised she’d been staring and cursed under her breath.

“No I’m fucking not alright. Who the holy unicorn do you think you are? Just because you have every other girl falling for you, doesn’t mean I will-“

“Look, Princess,” he interrupted, suddenly looking as tired as she felt, his seemingly permanent bubbly personality wavering slightly. “I was watching you earlier. You’re good, you really are and damn you are determined, but even a good athlete knows when to throw in the towel for one day. I’ve taken some bad hits, so I know one when I see one,” he glanced almost tenderly at where she still clutched her right side, sending an unexpected warmth through her body, “just take the night off, kay? Do some homework, go to the movies, call your boyfriend, whatever.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his coiled hair, sending Clarke’s stomaching flipping all over again. She was dumbfounded that the cocky, self-obsessed jock she was bickering with minutes ago was nowhere to be seen. But then again, she of all people knew how it felt to pretend to be someone you’re not. Feeling herself frown, she wondered if this was who the real Bellamy Blake was.

This considerate, gentle guy who just wanted to look out for people?

If so, why act like some pumped up asshole who thought they were better than everyone else?

Or there was the more likely explanation for this sudden change in personality: that this ‘gentleman act’ was nothing more than that. An act.

God she was tired.

Mirroring his own heavy sigh, she briefly let her eyes shut in mental preparation for what she was about to do. Tucking a stray strand of her wavy golden locks behind her ear she drew in a shaky breath to push out the pain. Hailing a silent prayer to the Gods she didn’t believe in to forgive her for what she was about to do, she opened her eyes and met his own, momentarily surprised by the gentleness she found there. Nodding slightly, she hummed an ‘okay’ before pulling herself up the wall to stand. After handing her her bag, eyes smiling at her, Clarke wondered whether Bellamy was genuinely nice.

“I’m urm.. sorry about… ya know before? I was just trying to… I don’t know.” He seemed a little flustered and she couldn’t help but feel triumphant.

“You can pay me back by not showing up tomorrow to hassle me again,” she quipped almost flirtatiously. He snorted and shook his head, a smirk forming to match her own.

“Sorry Princess, but we need that gym. Maybe I could provide you with another service.” His gaze wondered lazily over her sparsely clothed body, drinking her in, his intentions clear.

She was so fucking stupid.

Her eyes glazed over once more, any warmth she felt for this guy now buried under a dozen other more important issues at hand. Like the fact that she had a 10 page math paper on trig due in for tomorrow, or that she might get the belt again for something as simple as putting her elbows on the table at dinner. Shaking her head in disgust she looked away from him, forcing a breathy, sarcastic laugh out.

“Unbelievable.” Pushing off the wall and swinging her bag over her shoulder in one swift movement, she mentally kicked herself for even t h i n k i n g about getting caught in one of his traps.

“Hey Princess!” To her dismay, his voice had her turning around on her heels without a second thought.

“What.” Clarke forced out through a clenched jaw.

“I’m sorry.”

“Screw you Bellamy. Screw you.” And with that, she was out the door into the unforgiving coldness of a November night.


	2. Bellamy and Octavia against the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Bellamy's POV idk why just go with it  
> I'm writing this instead of homework  
> priorities and responsibility? lol wat  
> TUESDAY'S EPISODE THO :O  
> Octavia and Lincoln just kill me honesTLY OTP  
> well... after Bellarke  
> Happpy Reading :)

Chapter 2:

Sweat clung to every inch of his skin. Sticky. Suffocating. But he was relentless. Pounding the punch bag over and over and over again, long past the point of pain. The speakers in the corner of his garage blasted out Neon Jungle and Imagine Dragons repetitively, yet he focused solely on the dull thud his wrapped knuckles made on the worn black bag suspended from the concrete ceiling.

Breathe in.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Breathe out.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Eventually, after a continuous 35 minutes of “left right left right”, his body sagged to the floor, too exhausted to remain standing. Shuffling over to the wall, he tensed involuntarily at the coldness of the stone against his bare back. Heaving big breaths, he forced air in and out of his lungs, nostrils flared. It was no use, he was just as angry, just a stressed as when he stormed into the garage almost an hour ago.

It had been 9 days since he last spoke to Clarke Griffin.

9 days since he realised what an absolute dick he could be.

There was just something in her piercing blue eyes, in the soft curves of her body, in the ensnaring aroma of her sweat mixed with sweet perfume that had got under his skin. And there was something about the look she had given him before she stormed away from him. Pain mixed with disappointment… fear maybe? Whatever it was, it got to him. Enough to make him apologize. To her face. Which was a rare occurrence for him as he could barely utter the word ‘sorry’ to the dozens of girls he’d ‘humped and dumped’ so to speak. Bellamy Blake was confused. Frustrated. Curious about this strange girl who had caused him such unexpected grief for the past 9 days. Ever since last Wednesday, she had avoided him, averting her eyes from his in the corridor when she would usually stare him down with an alluring coldness, lingering in the doorway of the cafeteria so she wouldn’t have to walk in with him instead of confidently strutting past him like he was a peasant to her. To his absolute bewilderment, she had even stopped turning up at the gym, either training elsewhere or leaving before him and his boys arrived.

Groaning in frustration, Bellamy rubbed his hands over his face, supporting his head as if it could fall off at any given moment. It was a strange feeling for him really. He was so used to people being in awe of him, that to feel… in awe of this petit blonde who he knew so little about just made him feel uncomfortable. Hell, he could barely admit to himself that he might even be thinking about the stubborn gymnast who had, for the past 2 months or so, caused him nothing but a headache with her creative insults and refusals to leave the gym. But as the 5th day of her avoidance came around, he realised with a start that he wasn’t just curious about the lack of sarcastic quips and disgusted stares he had learned to expect off her on a day to day basis, he actually _missed_ them.

He groaned again. The music thumped, bouncing around his head like a ping pong ball. No this was all wrong. _Girls_ were meant to miss him. _He_ definitely did not miss girls. Especially not gorgeous, frigid blondes with a heart of ice. Sighing, he dragged himself to his feet before shuffling over to where his iPod was on the dock, shoulders hunched in fatigue. Just as he clicked pause, an eerie silence seeping through the sparsely furnished garage/makeshift gym that was attached to their small 2 bedroom house, he heard the familiar squeaking of the stairs in the main house.

Frowning deeply, he made his way to the door that connected his gym to the kitchen/dining room. Shutting the wooden door softly behind him, he recalled his mum was staying a double shift at the hospital tonight so wouldn’t be home for hours and Octavia had said she was going to study at a friend’s house after school, followed by a sleepover.

Tensing once more, Bellamy forced himself to breathe evenly and softly in the quiet of the thinly lit hallway as he inched his way to the bottom of the stairs. Another creak. Rushing the last couple of steps, he swung around the bottom of the stairs, preparing himself to either defend or attack.

What he did not expect was to see his little sister biting her bottom lip, eyes scrunched shut, shoulders narrowed, arms locked to her sides, fists balled as if she was trying to make herself invisible to him. Ignoring this, he felt anger flare within him as his gazed inspected her attire.

What he could only assumed was an intended to be a dress ended barely half-way down her thigh. The harsh black of it almost complimented the natural olive of her skin. Her cleavage was accented by what must have been a push-up bra and a low V-neck to the dress, with spaghetti straps to hold up the garment. Her hair was curled around her strikingly beautiful face and he felt a small swell of pride. But then he looked down past the skimpy black dress to the black heels with straps crossing every now and then all the way up past her ankle, back up to her now wide-open eyes and couldn’t help but curse in infuriation.

This was an outfit he would happily see on any other girl BUT his little sister.

“Bell-“ Octavia began with a timidness to her voice like that of a child who’s been caught sneaking out by a parent (which was kinda true).

“Give me a minute.” He held up one hand to silence her, bringing the other up to rub his eyes again. He was doing that a lot more lately. Miller said it made him look older. He could sense her shifting uncomfortably on the stairs after 30 seconds or so. Bracing himself, he dropped both hands to his sides, before re-thinking and barring her way down the stairs by placing one on the banister and the other on the wall.

She rolled her eyes at the gesture.

Typical Bellamy.

“Explain.” He stated simply. Taking a long breath, Octavia began a fast reel of information that appeared to have been rehearsed, not pausing for a breath until she was done in fear that her older brother would interrupt her.

“Well-Casey’s-having-a-party-and-it’s-the-first-night-I’ve-had-off-work-in-weeeeekss-Bell-like-weeks-and-I-thought-it-would-be-a-good-laugh-and-Atom’s-going-so-I-just-figured-that-I’d-go-because-I-feel-like-I-can-barely-see-him-anymore-with-my-second-job-and-that-which-I’m-totally-cool-with-having-by-the-way-I’m-not-complaining-it’s-just-everyone-in-my-grade-always-goes-to-parties-and-just-please-Bell-I’ll-love-you-forever-pleeeaaasseee-with-sprinkles-on-top?!” Catching her breath, she arranged her features to puppy-dog eyes and the cute pout she knew was effective on her big brother. After a forever of him looking after her, she had him wrapped around her little finger. They both knew it; he just pretended that it wasn’t true.

Bellamy contemplated his younger sister. Thought about how tough it must be for a 16 year old to have to work 2 jobs to help pay the bills, how unfair it was that she had to deal with that, how useless he was from not trying hard enough to protect her from the harsh realities of life. But most of all, he thought back to the little blonde with the dazzling blue eyes and her puppy-dog pout.

WHY WHERE ALL THE WOMEN IN HIS LIFE SO STUBBORN?

In his life.

Clarke Griffin was not in his life.

Being brought out of his daze by a whining ‘please’ from his little sister, who stood 3 steps away from him, he sighed heavily and motioned her past, dropping the hand clutching the banister. Squealing in delight, she bounced down the last 3 steps, before popping a kiss on his nose, giggling as he recoiled in mock disgust. She stayed there, in front of him, beaming at his own smile until it began to falter.

“I’ll be okay Bell, Atom will bring me home later, you won’t even know I’m gone,” he doubted that very highly, “and I’ll let myself in, so don’t wait up kay?” Even though they both knew he would sit and wait for her all night, he played along and agreed.

As she grinned at him once more and skipped out the door, the latch clicking softly behind her, Bellamy thought back to when she’d skip out to kindergarten with her pigtails swaying behind her, her stomach full of both his and her cereal rations for that day. He often gave up meals for her then, letting himself go hungry so she wouldn’t. Not so much anymore, Octavia was about as stubborn as they come, adamant that he would eat his standard 3 meals a day alongside her.

Even though his mum was still around, it had always been him and O. After their dad died just after Octavia’s 3rd birthday, they struggled to scrape together enough money each month to pay the bills. To begin with, being 5 when his dad died, only his mum could work. Taking as many extra shirts down at the hospital as she could, she was barely around, so Bellamy took on the role of looking after his little sister.

He practically raised her. Ironed her clothes, cooked her meals, soothed her when she had a nightmare, answered her endless questions about dad, held back her hair when she was sick, helped her with homework. Eventually, when he was old enough, he began working as well. He’d drive her wherever, whenever. He’d console her when she was upset about boys and give her extra money from time to time so she could treat herself to a new top or skirt. He gave her everything, always putting her before himself. It’s the way it always had been.

Bellamy and Octavia against the world.

Smiling to himself, still rooted to his spot at the bottom of the stairs in the deadly quiet of the house, he thought that even after everything, he’d always have O.

Then he remembered the look on her face when he told her she could go.

The way she skipped out the house without a care in the world.

It’s what he’d always wanted. For her to be happy. Worry free. For her to not have to suffer as he suffered. That’s why he was surprised to feel a stabbing grief in his chest as he stared blankly around him at the empty house.

Bellamy and Octavia against the world.

Dragging himself up the stairs and into his room, his body felt heavy with the weight of his suffering.

Bellamy and Octavia against the world.

Pulling the covers up over his head like he did when he was a child, he drew in shaky breaths as his body began to shudder.

Bellamy and Octavia against the world.

The problem with raising someone you love is that maybe, whilst you thought you were letting them lean on you, you were actually leaning on them. Whilst you thought you were letting them go, they were letting you go. Whilst you thought you didn’t need them, they didn’t need you.

Not to iron their clothes. Not to cook their meals. Not to lull them to sleep.

Bellamy and Octavia against the world.

Eyes dropping shut with fatigue, his final thoughts before his body fell into a slumber, still in his gym shorts, coated with drying sweat was that what if now, after all this time, it was just him.

Bellamy against the world.


	3. 43% Raven, 47% moonshine and 10% Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's chapter 3  
> I hope you guys are enjoying this  
> btw there is a lot of bellarke to come so bare with  
> also- angst (sorry not sorry)  
> Happy reading :)

Chapter 3:

“SHAKE IT OFF SHAKE IT OFF SHA SHA SHA SHAKE IT OFF SHAKE IT OOOFFFFFF! WHOOOO!” Monty and Jasper finished their rendition of the popular Taylor Swift song after Finn bet them 10$ that they didn’t know all the words. The entire group was in stitches from beginning to end, both Clarke and Raven wiping tears from their eyes. Clarke was still chuckling when she noticed her best friend was trying to attract her attention from the seat beside her. Turning to face Raven, she raised an eyebrow in question as the girl leaned towards her excitedly and began whispering in her ear.

“Finn asked me to go with him to Casey’s party tonight!” Clarke’s eyes’ widened in shock and then happiness for her friend. Being close with both Finn and Raven, Clarke knew they’d been crushing on each other since like forever, so it was about damn time!

“No frickin’ way!” Jasper’s head leaned over her shoulder where he’d been eavesdropping on the girl’s conversation. “Hey Monty you’ll never guess what Raven is- OW!” He faked pain as Clarke mockingly elbowed him in the ribs. That was what she loved most about Jasper and Monty though; they were the clowns of the group, always eager to make people laugh. Having recovered miraculously from his injuries, Jasper made a scene out of leaning over the table to where Monty was sat opposite Clarke and ‘whispered’ the information to him.

“Finn Collins,” he gestured obviously to Finn who was now starting to laugh, “is taking Raven Reyes” he gestures in the same way to a now furiously blushing Raven “to Casey Stewart’s partayyyy tonight.” A loud groan came from Raven’s direction as she slumped forward till her head hit the surface of the table. Monty, Jasper, Clarke and Finn all started laughing, with Finn throwing his arm around Raven’s shoulders, pulling her in and muttering something into her ear, making her giggle, before kissing her hair. Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the scene. Abruptly, Raven was turning around to face her again, arm thrown wide in newly found enthusiasm, almost whacking the smile clean off Clarke’s face.

For a genius engineer, Reyes was stupidly clumsy.

“Sorry!” she mouthed sheepishly, before returning to her eager state.

“You have to come!” She exclaimed to Clarke and Monty and Jasper (who came as a 2 for 1 deal) and Wells, Clarke’s oldest friend; who had just joined them from the jocks table where he sometimes hung out, being on the bench waiting for the next lacrosse season and all.

“M?”

“J?”

“In?”

“In. You?”

“Affirmative.” And with that, the duo flourished their hands in some wild hand gesture they had been doing since the 9th grade when they officially became partners in crime, which finished with them linking their pinkies.

“Hahaha, Wells you’ll already be there right?” Raven queried.

“Hells yeah I will, Hannah Turner is going I mean daym!” This resulted in another chorus of laughter from the table. The laughter died away as quick as it started and then all eyes were on Clarke. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Another rehearsed excuse was on her tongue. She ‘had work’. She ‘had practice’. She ‘had homework’. Problem was it was Friday, so she’d have to be more inventive than that, but before she could let her friends down yet again, the image of the olive-skinned boy with the deep brown eyes and confusing personality, the memory of the gentle look he gave her, like she was pure, unexpectedly gave her the courage to try something new. She’d show him that she didn’t need his pity. Before she could overthink her sudden bravery, she blurted out an answer.

“Urmmmm… sure I guess.” Monty and Jasper whooped and cheered, high fiving both each other as well as Wells and Finn, who both just started laughing again. Raven embraced Clarke before practically bellowing down her ear in uncontainable glee that she should get ready at hers and then they could all go together. Wincing, Clarke retracted from the hug, nodding and smiling at the suggestion.

Whilst the rest of her group bounced onto another topic, Clarke remained motionless, thinking about the consequences of her impulsive actions. Frowning to herself, she realised she was going to have to find a way to cover up the scars without looking like a total prude. She was busy analysing every possibility associated with going to a high school party, suppressing the urge to blurt out an excuse to explain her sudden change of heart. Somehow she just didn’t think ‘No, I can’t make it to the party sorry because I’m not sure the damson blue bruises on my shoulders will go well with the pink shoes I wanted to wear’ would cut it. For fuck sake.

Lost deep in thought, she felt eyes burning into her, willing her to look up. So she did. Looked right up into the eyes of Bellamy Blake. Usually, in these circumstances, she would stare him and his stupid arrogant smirk right out of the cafeteria. But today, there was no smirk. There was a kind of tenderness to his face, not unlike the one he wore when urging her to take care of herself not 9 days ago. Yet again, it sent her stomach fluttering, regardless of the fact that he was at the opposite end of the cafeteria to her and her friends. Nope. She couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. It wasn’t right. No boy should be able to affect her this much. Clarke hadn’t spent years crafting the perfect barriers for them to be torn down by some pretty boy with a curiosity boner for her.

Feeling a poke in her rib dangerously close to the result of last night’s brass candlestick incident, she jerked her gaze away from Bellamy’s in alarm to the offending poker. Wells’ swirling, whisky coloured orbs stared at her in concern, silently questioning if she was alright. She couldn’t deal with any of this. She was just so fucking tired. Forcing a tight smile, she excused herself from the table, grabbing her bag before stealing one last look at the brown-eyed boy across the room (who was still studying her with a combination of curiosity and concern) before pushing her way through a swarm of all too keen freshmen, out the cafeteria door and into the no less crowded hallway. Rushing to the nearest bathroom, she frantically slid the bolt across before slamming her back against the door and slowly sinking down till she was hugging her knees. Letting her head fall forward into her lap, she sobbed uncontrollably into her jeans, not worried about anybody hearing her. The ability to cry soundlessly was yet another useful trait she had mastered over the years.

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Later that night, throat burning from pre-party moonshine shots (courtesy of Monty), Clarke found herself in one of Raven’s 3 bathrooms, doing 180 degree turns in the full length mirror to check out her arse in the high-waisted jeans she’d picked out to go with a skin tight black crop top that had “Disney” written across the bosom in the Disney font. It ended just above the jeans, leaving a thin line of her faintly tanned tummy exposed, whilst carefully covering the bruises and scars that littered her back, ribs and shoulders.

At least he was smart about _where_ he hit her.

Applying a layer of blood red lipstick that went nicely with her scarlet red nails and red Vans, she grabbed a couple gold rings out her make-up bag and scattered them across her fingers. Studying herself for one last time, she wondered whether she should’ve done something with her hair, but dismissed the notion as she was quite fond of the natural waves.

Zipping up her bag, she heard Raven’s voice float up the stairs, asking her if she was ready or not. Grabbing her black leather jacket from the hook on the back of the door, she stuffed the rest of her belongings into her bag before making her way down the stairs to where her friends were waiting.

She didn’t miss the looks of admiration from the guys, but she was so use to being called on for her “great arse” or “fuckable figure” that now she just preferred to pretend that no one noticed her. Raven looked as beautiful as ever in a little red dress which hugged her slim figure snuggly. Whilst Clarke was classed as ‘slim’, she was curvy, with longish legs compared to her short torso. She had wide hips (thus the good arse), a narrow waist and broad shoulders with a full bosom. An hourglass figure her mum had told her.

Raven on the other hand was slim all over, with long, slender legs, a flat stomach and at least a C cup. Side by side, they were hot as hell, and Clarke felt a surge of confidence (which was probably 43% Raven and 47% moonshine and 10% Clarke) that she could spend the night at this party.

Once all in Wells’ baby-blue Volkswagen (Clarke riding shotgun with Wells driving and the rest of the group in the back) Clarke put on ‘Come on Eileen’ (hers and Well’s favourite song from when they were kids) to which everyone belted along too. Finn and Raven where huddled up close, giggling every now and then at the others attempt at singing. Monty and Jasper were going all out- being lightweights meant they were probably already drunk. Wells and Clarke’s voices were practically drowned out by everyone else’s, but Wells took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed her knee with it. For a minute, she just stared at the dark hand on her leg and felt a sting in her eyes as she thought about how close they used to be, about how she pushed him away and about how unsure she was that she could fix it this time. But then the beat picked up steadily as the song reached its climax and she found herself screaming along with everyone else and, as the clock turned 8:47pm, Clarke truly smiled.


	4. Bellamy fucking Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this story is going really well idk I'm loving writing every word which I guess is what matters  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS you guys make my dayyyy  
> Hope you enjoyyyy  
> I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN TUESDAY'S EPISODE BC I HAVEN'T WATCHED IT BUT IF THE RUMOURS ABOUT CLEXA ARE TRUE I'M SO SAD OML  
> happppyyy reading :)

Chapter 4:

Two hours later and Clarke was about ready to die.

Having lost her friends about an hour ago, she wondered aimlessly through the throngs of sweaty teens grinding on one another to a wordless beat in a drunken haze. Clarke was certain she was in hell. In the last hour, she’d had multiple offers for; sex, drugs, alcohol, fags and sex. She’d been groped, spat on, and one girl had even called her a whore for apparently ‘looking at her boyfriend’ who seemed to be unconscious. She was ‘frigid’ when she rejected people and a ‘pussy’ when she refused to take someone’s joint.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Persevering, she reminded herself over and over again that she would see this party out. Since the events at lunchtime earlier on in the day, Clarke had been steadily trying to convince herself that the reason she was so desperate to stay inhaling sweat molecules mixed with Tabaco and weed was that she needed to truly ‘live the high school experience’. Much to her despair, she was no more convinced about it than she was about Jasper trying to tell her the tooth fairy rode a unicorn in 6th grade. Deep down, she knew the reason she was staying was for him. No, not in a soppy, ‘ _Romeo and Juliet_ meets _10 Things I Hate About You_ ’ way, that wasn’t her style! Plus, there was _obviously_ nothing going on between her and Bellamy, they hated each other, right? Besides, for now, boys were off limits. No, she told herself, I am just here to prove him wrong.

That theory had got her through 2 agonising hours of what she concluded must be a preview of hell.

Then some 12th grader tried to kiss her. Grabbing her by the waist on her way past where he was leaning precariously on what looked to be a piano, he murmured something inaudible to her, his breath hot against her cheek- only not in a good way. His hands, having previously been on her waist, had now moved down to cup her ass, snapping Clarke out of her paralyzed state with a jerk. Planting her hands firmly on the strangers’ chest, she pushed him away, sending him reeling in his drunken state.  

Screw Bellamy Fucking Blake, she needed to leave.

Pivoting on the spot, she headed down a dimly lit hallway to what she hoped would be the door when a couple slammed into the wall in front of her in what appeared to be an effort to bite off each other’s tongues. Curling her top lip in disgust, she began to toe around them when she heard a shrill scream from a dark haired girl at the end of the corridor Clarke had just come from.

For a moment, all 3 of them froze. Then the guy, who moments ago had been pressing the blonde into the wall, began cursing profusely whilst attempting to approach the girl who screamed. She was evidently drunk as she stumbled towards him, expletives and insults rolling off her tongue venomously. Clarke felt like her face was a familiar one, yet she just couldn’t place it. The brunette pushed the guy away as she increased the volume of her voice, causing Clarke to glance curiously at the blonde who was now edging cautiously away from the scene and towards the far end of the corridor.

With a shrug, Clarke set out to follow her, reasoning that she must be near an exit now, finally away from all this drama, but was stopped in her tracks by an all too familiar sound.

Looking over her shoulder slowly in disbelief, her heart jumped to her mouth as she realised what had just happened. The brunette wearing a short black dress with cute curled hair was clutching her now red cheek, tears spilling out of her overly-bright eyes. Cheater Guy was now shouting in her face, raising his hand again. Clarke’s heart broke as she watched the girl cower, sobbing heavily.

Fury boiled her blood. It coursed through her like the plague, overpowering every one of her senses. It was the same feeling she got when _he_ would threaten her little sister, Ivy. Clenching her jaw and her fists rhythmically, she strode towards Cheater Guy, protectiveness oozing out of her, arriving just in time to catch the hand he held above his head as it began its descent towards the brunette.

At the feeling of a small hand grasping his wrist, Cheater Guy turned to her in shock, just as she swung a less than perfect right hook into his jaw, which was enough to send him crashing to the floor in a semi-conscious state. Shaking her hand in pain, she looked at the dark hair boy in disgust.

“Asshole,” she spat at him.

Glancing up wearily, she felt the anger drain out of her body instantly as she took in the sight of the poor girl. The was a trickle of blood running down her cheek from a cut next to her eye, probably from his ring, and her eye looked to be swelling up. Tears still tore down her cheeks and her mouth was a perfect ‘O’ shape, her eyes almost as wide in awe. Biting her bottom lip in realization at how that must have looked from the outside, she stuck out her hand to the girl standing before her.

“I’m Clar-“

“Clarke Griffin. I know. I’m in your math class? You’re like a frigging genius.” Some of her words were slightly slurred and she sniffled now and then, but Clarke couldn’t help but blush, at first in pride and then in embarrassment as she realised she didn’t know this girl. Retracting her hand, she internally cringed.

“I’m so sorry, I… what’s your name?” To Clarke’s surprise, the brunette cracked a smile before sticking out her hand like Clarke had done before.

“Octavia.”

Mirroring Octavia’s smile, Clarke took her hand and shook it. ‘How could I hate guys like Bellamy for ignoring people they didn’t think “worthy” of their time if I do the same?’ Clarke thought. Withdrawing her hand, Octavia gently prodded the area around her eye, wincing every so often. To this, Clarke jumped out of her moment of self-berating and took the injured girls arm, softly tugging her down the corridor towards the now visible door. Pushing it open, she took a moment to relish the feeling of crisp, clean air in her lungs. Sighing almost happily, she tried to lose herself in the vastness of the night sky- a trick her father taught her before he…

Octavia threw up on the grass right in front of them. She was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering and she had started to cry again. Clarke ushered her towards a couple of garden chairs that were not currently being used as love seats. Pushing her gently into the plastic chair, Clarke was struck by how innocent this girl looked. Trying to work out how it could be that a girl, the same age as her, could make Clarke feel the same instinctive need to shield her from the ugliness of the world as she did for her 12 year old sister?

Once Octavia was seated, Clarke dropped her bag to the floor and tucked it under the chair the girl was occupying, so that it was out of the ‘vomit zone’. She then shrugged off her leather jacket and draped it around the girls shaking shoulders.

“Thank you,” she snivelled between sobs. Crouching down to her level, hands laid calmly on her exposed knees, Clarke eyed her sympathetically.

“Is there someone you can call? Someone who will come and get you?” Before she had even finished her sentence, the girl was nodding and holding her hand out to Clarke. The corners of lips tugging upwards, Clarke fished around her back pocket for her phone before handing it to Octavia. She then stood and wandered over to the nearest free chair, dragging it to where her new friend was now bawling down the phone. Occasionally, as Octavia stopped to take a breath, Clarke heard a soothing voice float out from the phone, presumably male, probably the girl’s father. Oddly, the thought sent a streak of jealousy through her, which she hastily shook away. Today was turning out to be too much for her liking.

After calming down considerably, Octavia hiccupped a barely audible ‘okay’ before ending the call and holding the phone back out to Clarke, who took it with a tight smile. The timid girl suddenly looked even more uncomfortable, as she must have felt an awkwardness settle over the duo. Chewing her bottom lip in thought, Clarke came to the conclusion that she’d stay with this girl until her ride came, awkward or not.

After a couple more minutes silence, Octavia started retching again, frantically trying to keep her hair out her face. Shooting up, Clarke moved round the back of the girls’ chair, patting her back and scooping the long locks out of the way.

Once Octavia had stopped heaving, Clarke had begun to carefully French-braid her mud-brown curls in order to keep them out the ‘vomit zone’. They sat in comfortable silence, until Clarke unconsciously began humming the tune to ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’ like she did when she was braiding Ivy’s hair. She could feel the tension seep out of Octavia’s slim frame as she gently tugged at her hair and soothingly hummed in her ear.

She continued to hum the tune long after she had finished the braid, instead choosing to gently stroke Octavia’s hair until her breathing evened out and her head lolled forward. Moving round the chair until she was knelt in front of the sleeping girl (but away from the puke) she tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind the girl’s ear before pulling the leather jacket she’d leant her further over her narrow shoulders.

Clarke let out a sad sigh, straightening up to move back over to her chair where she resolved she’d sit until the girl’s ride arrived. Turns out she didn’t have to wait long. In the space behind Octavia’s chair where she’d been stood moments ago, was a tall, olive-skinned boy in grey gym shorts and a black t-shirt.

She swore silently to the heavens.

Bellamy Fucking Blake.


	5. The mind box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter 5  
> IT'S SO DRAMATIC LOL  
> Thank you for your comments you guys are the best  
> Oh and don't worry all questions will be answered in the coming chapterrrrsss  
> HAPPY READING :)

Chapter 5:

“Can I help you?” she asked bluntly, not at all in the mood to have to argue with him today. At this he cracked his famous ovary-melting smile which only angered Clarke more.

“Is something funny?” her voice rose an octave or two in irritation. He raised a perfect eyebrow, smile still carved onto his freckled face.

“I’ve come for my sister.” He motioned to the girl in the chair with a nod of his head.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Clarke seethed under her breath. He had begun to move round the chair towards her, as if the mention of his sister reminded him of why he was really here. By the time he was stood next to her, close enough that their arms brushed occasionally- sending unwelcome tinglings through Clarke’s veins- the smile was gone from his face, replaced by a deep frown. His eyes seemed to dance with anger, yet the way he reached out to cup his little sisters’ face suggested that he felt nothing but sadness.

“What the fuck happened to her?” He looked to Clarke, his tone accusing. Brought out of her inner monologue about this strange boy, Clarke looked at him in disgust.

“ERM, oh I don’t know… Why don’t you ask the boy who hit her?” she asked, incredulously.

She could’ve sworn he growled. A heat pooled in her lower abdomen at the sound.

“Well aren’t you the one taking care of her?”

She snorted in disbelief.

“I wasn’t the one who let her go out dressed like a hooker to a party with a guy who had every intention of cheating on her!” she shot back.

They were now stood face to face just centimetres apart. Both their chests heaved with anger, their eyes heavy from too many nights devoid of sleep.

“Like you’d know anything about having to look after someone.” He was almost whispering now, his voice low and dangerous, sending her stomach into a frenzy. He swallowed thickly and she couldn’t help but track the flexing muscles down to his chest and then to his prominent biceps. Shaking her head as if to clear her mind of such thoughts she jabbed a finger into his firm chest, cold eyes now locked with his heated glare.

“Oh I know all about looking after someone. Newsflash Bellamy: you’re not the only person on the planet with a younger sister. Just some of us would rather die than set them up to get hurt.” Her voice was just as low as his and she did a small victory dance in her head as he visibly flinched at her words.

“You don’t know anything about me. About us,” he warned through gritted teeth. It was kind of strange to see this side of Bellamy, a side that wasn’t all about the shits and giggles.

“Well touché.” She raised her chin in defiance.

They were so close now she could feel his breath on her face. ‘If I stood on my tiptoes, I could probably kiss him’ she thought absentmindedly. She scrunched her eyes up, angry at herself for even thinking that. This was _Bellamy Blake_. Total asshole. Selfish, inconsiderate, head-so-far-up-his-own-arse-he-could-probably-speak-to-his-lungs-Bellamy Blake. Right? It’s the way she had always seen him, yet as she recalled the way he cupped Octavia’s face, the pained expression he wore like he felt her pain, the tender way he looked at Clarke from across the cafeteria and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d simply assumed that that was all there was to him. Couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been wrong about him all this time.

This day was just too fucking much.

Feeling herself beginning to shake, she forced her eyes open, running a hand through her hair in alarm. ‘GET IT TOGETHER’ she screamed to herself. He was still staring at her, but gone were the cold eyes. Replaced in seconds by his worryingly familiar ‘concerned look’, that look like she was a precious doll that just might crack in half and she felt her chest contract. She couldn’t breathe.

It hit her like a freight train.

That look he’d been giving her had such an effect on her and she couldn’t work out why. But all at once, it came back to her. Memories she tries so valiantly to lock away in the darkest parts of her mind hit her with such force that she almost physically fell down. She never lets herself think about the past for more than a couple seconds for fear of unlocking that box. Now, however, she’s simply just too tired to keep the lid shut. That look. The same look her dad would give her when she didn’t come 1st place in a competition or when she had a nightmare, those precious glances he’d give her before he…

Before he died.

Before he left her to fend for herself. Against _him_.

He was her best friend.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Clarke?” his voice was like a lullaby, so soothing, so full of kindness and concern and she couldn’t take this.

Feeling a lump rise in her throat she stumbled backwards, away from the body heat they’d been sharing, away from his eyes, so full of pain. They mirrored her own.

“I.. urm…” She tried desperately to stop her voice from breaking, not wanting him to see what a mess she really was. “I have to go. I have to get Raven and urm, and-and Wells and I have to go.” She told him in such a way that made her question whether she was telling him or herself that she had to leave. Still walking backwards away from him, she could feel his eyes boring into her in something that had seemed almost like confusion and sadness, she could feel the clammy hands groping for her in the darkness, she could feel Wells’ firm hand on her knee, could feel the stone cold tile of her kitchen floor against her cheek, could feel the repetitive sting of the belt buckle against her back, could feel the absolute agony of hearing that her daddy wasn’t coming home and she could feel the sickening guilt rising up in her throat that it was all her fault. She deserved all of it. Losing her dad, losing her oldest friend, the beatings, the gropes she deserved it all. He DIED because of her.

Staring at the attractive stranger who still seemed to be standing so close to her, in the middle of a party full of about 100 people containing her closest friends, she wondered how it was possible to feel so alone. She didn’t deserve his concerned glances.

And she couldn’t breathe.

Eyes swimming with tears, she heard Bellamy try for her again in that stupidly heart-warming concerned voice. Her name leaving his lips like a prayer. She turned and ran.

Ran out through the front gate, past the rows of cars, away from the faint booming of the speakers. Feet pounding. Chest heaving. Until her feet collapsed from underneath her and she fell to the dirty concrete sidewalk. Landing on her knees, her hands skidded across the floor, tearing the skin off her palms.

She made no attempt to move. Just lay there. Shaking silently. Until the sobbing started. It coursed through her, a horrifying grief that threatened to empty the contents of her stomach onto the stone beneath her. Racking her small body, the sobbing consumed her. She ached all over, her heart contracting in pure agony, tempting her to rip it out of her scarred chest once and for all. She was just so tired.

Unexpectedly, she felt strong hands encase her waist, lifting her off the ground before scooping up her legs and carrying her like a baby back in the direction she’d come from. Without thinking, her mind foggy with misery and exhaustion, she looped her hands around her saviour’s neck, burying her face into their shoulder. By the time they reached his car, she was fast asleep, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

She was just so tired.


	6. The fight with the fire alarm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay so confession: I don't like this chapter  
> IDK WHAT HAPPENED I JUST  
> don't worry guys, the next chapter is definitely more Clarke and Bellamy,  
> Hopefully followed by a bit of Clarke's story from home (yes about her little sister)  
> Thanks so much for your comments :)  
> Happy Reading :)

Chapter 6:

The first thing Clarke was aware of was the strong smell of coffee: arousing her from her almost-coma, the scent so heavy she could almost taste the bitterness. Now she was coming-to, she felt rough. Without even opening her eyes, she knew her head was spinning; her throat raw and her limbs heavy. Faintly in her groggy mind, she recalled that the sting in her palms was from a fall which she didn’t remember getting up from.

Fluttering her eyes open slowly, she winced at the brightness of the sun streaming through the skylight, directly onto the wooden floor in front of her. Letting out a soft sigh, Clarke took a moment to relish the plush mattress beneath her, the softness of the crisp white bed sheets against her skin, and the purity of the clean white walls surrounding her. She noted idly that she was still wearing her crop top. Her jeans, however, didn’t seem to be around.

Rolling lazily from her stomach to her back, she slowly stretched out like a cat, back arching away from the bed, an almost inaudible moan escaping her lips. Only once she’d settled back into the pillow, a content smile on her face did she become aware of the soft music coming from the floor beneath her. Holding her breath so as to hear the melody, she giggled to herself when she heard ‘Kung Foo Fighting’ playing, letting out her pent up breath in a gleeful whoosh. She can’t remember the last time she felt this happy.

Oh dear God.

Jerking up into a sitting position, her panic had caused her to momentarily forget that she was currently suffering under the effects of Monty’s moonshine. She was harshly reminded of last night’s party as she fought down a wave of nausea. Groaning, she clasped a hand to her head. Rubbing furiously at her temple, Clarke frantically tried to piece together the events of last night, but struggled to remember anything past braiding Octavia’s hair. She hadn’t been that drunk… had she? It didn’t help matters that she’d never woke up in someone else’s bed (excluding Raven’s of course) before.

In this area of expertise, much to her dismay, Clarke was clueless.

Groaning again, it hit her that by now Ivy must have been at home with _him_ for at least 13 hours now, maybe more. Crossing her fingers, she prayed that her little sister had kept her head down, like Clarke had taught her to. Hopefully, she would’ve found the dress that Clarke had picked out and ironed for her in her closet for dinner and, if luck was on her side for once, _he_ would’ve steered clear of any alcohol. Part of her mind was at ease, safe in the knowledge that _he_ swore not to hurt Ivy, however she had vivid memories of her mum saying the same thing to her.

Prominent welts on her back said otherwise.

Flopping back into the plush pillow dramatically, she scrunched up her eyes as if to wish the world away. At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Clarke shot up once more, hand clutching her heart in pure shock.

“Octavia,” she breathed out, relieved, “you scared the shit out of me.” To this the girl let out a soft laugh, her bright smile transforming her face into something of rare beauty. What was it about these Blake’s that made Clarke want to grab a canvas and go crazy?

“Guessing your hangover’s pretty bad too, huh?” came the girls reply as she softly padded over to Clarke’s bed, perching herself by Clarke’s feet as if ready to take flight.

“No kidding.” Clarke couldn’t help but return Octavia’s smile. How had she barely noticed this girl before? In an attempt to prevent the blush that was creeping up her neck at the shame of it, Clarke turned the conversation to Octavia, deciding that now was the time to get to know the girl.

“How are you feeling? You know… after?” Clarke left the question hanging in the air, hoping that Octavia would understand what she was referring to. By the way the brunette moved a hand up to cautiously stroke her now black-eye, she understood what Clarke had been too reluctant to voice.

“Erm, yeah I guess. I don’t know what’s worse, the cheating or the hitting!” The laugh she let out was too harsh. Too forced. Clarke winced. Biting her bottom lip, she felt an uncomfortable silence descend upon them.

The painfully fake grin that had been plastered on Octavia’s face began to break away and she hung her head, letting out a wry chuckle.

“Never really been that great at pretending. Bell has always been able to see right through me. He knows me better than anyone though, better than Atom, better than Mum…” her voice trailed away at the end. The beginning of Elvis Presley’s ‘Burning Love’ began to play beneath them. Clarke hadn’t moved an inch. Leaning on the headboard, she briefly wondered how rough she looked, knowing that her hair would be wild from sleep, her make-up probably smudged across her pale face. But she was too encased in the brunette at the bottom of the bed to actually do anything about it.

“I’m sorry,” Octavia continued, “you really don’t want to hear about my soppy crap! I’ll just grab my stuff,” she motioned to the wardrobe next to the door “and then I’ll leave you.” As Octavia began to push herself up off the bed, Clarke leapt forward, seizing the girls’ forearm in place of comforting words she couldn’t seem to gather.

“No! No, it’s okay, I erm… wait a minute, is this your bed?” Clarke felt her cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment. Letting out an amused laugh, Octavia settled back down on the bed, seemingly more confident this time as she turned her whole body to face the headboard, tucking her plaid-pyjama-bottom-clad legs underneath her until she was sat ‘Buddha Style’ facing Clarke.

Clarke feels like they’ve done this for years. Her and Octavia. Sat in bed on a Saturday morning, gossiping about the previous nights’ shenanigans.

“Nah, it’s my moms’.” Clarke stomach dropped. Scrambling to get out of bed, she almost knocked Octavia off with her feet.

“Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God.” Horrified, Clarke tried feebly to untangle her legs from the blanket beneath the duvet, which was anchoring her to _Bellamy Blake’s mums’ bed?!_

If yesterday was the plummet in a rollercoaster ride, today was turning out to be the loop-the-loop. Her cheeks now flaming red, she lolled back onto the wooden headboard once more, hands covering her face in dismay. From the opposite end of the bed, Octavia was howling with laughter, clutching her stomach as it began to ache with the sheer force of her merriment. This only made Clarke groan, still covering her face, but upon hearing the girls laughter subside, she removed her hands gradually and the corners of her lips tugged upwards involuntarily.

“Shut up this is so embarrassing!” Clarke couldn’t help but laugh along with her new friend, despite her humiliation. Octavia just grinned wider, adjusting herself so she was sat comfortably once more. Letting out a content sigh, she stuck her arms out behind her so she was leaning on them, almost lying down.

“Nah it’s cool I mean, it’s not like she ever really in. She works a lot of nightshifts... and dayshifts… she works a lot.” Octavia shrugged it off like it meant nothing to her, but Clarke could sense the underlying pain behind the words.

“So if this is your mom’s bedroom, why is your stuff in here?” Clarke queried, eager to change the subject to something more cheery. Unfortunately, Clarke had a way of putting her foot in her mouth, even when she was trying her hardest to be friendly. She’d never been that good at making friends. She watched Octavia began to blush heavily, feeling her stomach sink. Goddamn it! Opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish, she racked her brain to think of something- anything- to say to disperse the awkward silence that cloaked them.

Octavia beat her too it.

Having miraculously recovered from her embarrassment, she nodded her head over towards the other side of the room. Clarke almost missed the way she swallowed thickly. Almost. Following the brunette’s gaze, her eyes landed on other bed, pushed up against the far wall. Like the bed she was lying in, it had plain white bedding and it was unmade, like it had just been slept in. Putting two and two together, she turned to Octavia who had suddenly found great interest in a loose piece of material that hung off the hem of her woolly jumper.

“You bunk with your mom?” She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Octavia’s gaze briefly met her own, before she looked away almost shyly.

“Yeah well, we can only afford the two rooms and it beats sharing with a dude! And like I said, she’s barely around anyway.” Octavia’s hope of making her confession sound light-hearted was crushed by her inability to make her smile reach her eyes. It was Clarke’s turn to go red. Sheepishly pulling the cover up over herself more, she mentally kicked herself for lack of tact.

“Octavia, I’m sorry I-“

“Don’t be.” Octavia interrupted her, bluntly. Clarke was somewhat taken aback by her instantaneous hostile tone. Like a flip had been switched. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Clarke again struggled to find the right words. Once again, she came up short. Never had she wished she was Raven more in her life. That girl always knew just what to say- _and_ she had the confidence to do it. Also, Clarke had never really done pity- in fact, she loathed it- but, for some reason, she couldn’t help but sympathise with the brunette.

These Blakes were doing strange things to her head.

Just as she thought that the awkward tension in the air was about to suffocate her to death, Octavia spoke in a small voice, breaking the silence.

“Hey, Clarke?”

“Mmhmm,” Clarke murmured absentmindedly, mostly trying to figure out how this girl had gone from a hostile woman to a fragile little girl in mere seconds.

“Can I ask you something?” Looking down to the girl at the bottom of the bed, Clarke frowned as she took in her downcast eyes, her slouched shoulders and her black eye. She knew that look. She knew that look very well. Octavia was afraid. Feeling her pulse quicken at the ominous question, Clarke swallowed thickly, trying to find her voice. When she spoke, she sounded about as fragile as the timid girl in front of her.

“Always.” There was another pause. ‘Redemption Song’ drifted through the floor.

“I-“Octavia’s hesitant voice was interrupted by a piercing high-pitched ring that drowned out Bob Marley’s peaceful melody.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, THE BACON!” Octavia erupted from the bed and out the door, her footsteps fast and heavy on the stairs. Clarke was left motionless, startled by the speedy shift in atmosphere once again. Only when she heard Octavia curse, accompanied with the sound of something metal crashing to the floor did she move- rather clumsily kicking her way out the covers before almost tumbling down the stairs. Once she reached the bottom, she held her breath, listening for noises to guide her through her new surroundings. Turns out getting up from that fall wasn’t the only thing she didn’t remember.

Clutching her arms around the exposed skin of her stomach, Clarke stumbled into the kitchen, shuddering at the sensation of her bare feet on the cold, grey tiled floor. Looking up at the scene before her, she stifled a laugh at the comical way Octavia was leaping around the kitchen in some sort of deranged dance, cursing profusely under her breath the entire time. That was until the tea-towel Octavia was using to wipe the grease off the hob caught fire. The fire alarm still screeched from directly above her, consuming her and increasing the pain of her hangover tenfold. Groaning loudly, Clarke strode forward, almost knocking Octavia off her feet before cautiously picking up the towel by its corner and tossing it in the sink. Turning the tap on, she turned on her heel and strode towards the dining room table situation by a large window at the other side of the room. Without even stopping, she grabbed a chair and dragged it across the floor furiously, coming to an abrupt halt underneath the fire alarm where she’d previously been stood. Her face was set in a scowl like stone. Standing on the chair, Clarke made no move to pacify the alarm, instead just choosing to punch it until it stopped with the side of her hand, before wordlessly stepping off the chair and hauling it back to the wooden table. Octavia had come to a complete standstill, her mouth hung open in a childish fashion.

‘Que Sera, Sera’ played out eerily into the silence around them. Neither of the two girls knew how to proceed. In the space of 4 minutes, Octavia had been on the verge of asking Clarke something she’d never been asked before, there’d been a fire, a fist-fight with a fire alarm, Clarke had shown a side to Octavia that she usually channelled into her gymnastics, and worst of all the bacon was burnt.

Now they were stood, opposite each other in an icy kitchen, Clarke dressed in nothing more than grey panties and her Disney top and Octavia’s hair still in last night’s braid. Risking a look into the brunette’s eyes, Clarke realised Octavia was right when she said she wasn’t very good at hiding how she felt.

The fear in her eyes was evident.

Clarke almost envied her for such freedom. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to say something, anything to break the excruciating silence which had been a result of her ‘outbreak’. But before she could, someone cleared their throat from the doorway just behind her, causing her to tense. From the smirk on Octavia’s face, it could only be one person. One very irritatingly important person.

“Well I don’t know whether to be alarmed or aroused,” came the deep voice Clarke had anticipated. Octavia started giggling from her position by the sink. Hanging her head, she groaned for the umpteenth time that morning, massaging her temple with her hand before turning slowly.

She was met with a sight that sent a heat flooding through her veins. Lent against the door-frame in nothing but the gym-shorts he’d been wearing last night, Bellamy had a smirk (similar to his sisters) plastered right across his freckled face. Clarke couldn’t help but inhale sharply at the sight of his toned stomach and biceps, coated in a thin layer of sweat and oil. In his hand he held a sapphire blue t-shirt with the emblem to the local garage on it. Watching his smile growing wider Clarke closed her eyes in horror, wishing for the floor to swallow her up. She was only dressed in her grey panties and her Disney top. _Duh._

Octavia was out-right howling with laughter now. Clarke imagined her to be bent double, using the counter for support. Forcing the blush that was creeping up her neck down, she wondered why she cared so much about what this boy thought of her. Just last week, she would’ve happily stripped down to her underwear and gave him a strip tease with no fear of feeling anything other than nausea. Now, however, Clarke had butterflies from just feeling his eyes roam her scarcely clothed body. Scolding herself for being such a coward, for feeling anything, Clarke forced her eyes open, involuntarily wincing as she noticed the raise of his eyebrow and the effect it had on the muscles in her lower abdomen. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to claw together any last shreds of her dignity together.

First he’d thrown her over his shoulder like she was a doll, then he’d carried her to his car like her very own Captain America and now he was drinking in her long pale legs and the soft curve of her hips with his whisky eyes and his prince-charming smile. Clarke was 78% sure she had no dignity left when it came to Bellamy Blake.

Yet, whilst making her feel vulnerable, he had a way of setting her skin alight, of sending her blood dancing round her veins and her heart pumping as if she was invincible.

Dragging his gaze away from Clarke, Bellamy looked past her to where Octavia had begun to compose herself, his features marring into a frown.

“How’s the eye?” he asked gruffly. Shrugging casually, Octavia began to tidy away the burnt bacon, binning the remains and washing the tray.

“It’s ‘kay,” She murmured half-heartedly. Bellamy grunted in reply. Taking another sweeping gaze over a stationary Clarke, Bellamy turned to leave the room, a small smile on his face. As he disappeared into the hall, his voice drifted back into the space where he’d been stood moments ago.

“Check the time O,” he says, the smile on his face evident in his voice.

“Fuck!” came the reply from Octavia. Rushing past Clarke and thundering up the stairs she left Clarke stood silently in the serenity of the kitchen. She could hear the two siblings squabbling above her. Alone for the first time since the previous morning, she couldn’t help but let a wide grin creep onto her face.

How strange it was to be happy, without feeling like you should be sad.


	7. A day in the life of Bellamy Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HOLA BONJOUR  
> so ik this chapter was meant to be v bellarke-y  
> BUT  
> I thought I'd tell ya'll bout Bellamy's day  
> also the chapter was gonna be really long so I split it into 2  
> NEXT CHAPTER IS DEFINITELY BELLAMY AND CLARKE FEAR NOT  
> Thank you so much for your comments :*  
> Happy reading :)

Chapter 7

Burrowing his way through a multi-coloured pile of clean laundry, Bellamy cursed aloud. He could’ve sworn that he hung his hoodie on the back of his door! Having already searched the gym, the kitchen, and Octavia’s / his mom’s room, he was growing desperate. Trust him to lose his favourite grey hoodie after an arduous night at the bar, followed by an early morning shift at the garage, when all he wanted to do was throw on his comfy sweats and marathon Marvel movies.

Growling in frustration, he flung the clothes back into the basket at the bottom of his bed, before collapsing face-first onto the feather duvet. Letting out a moan, he noted that this was probably the first time he’d been off his feet in 13 hours. It had been 11pm by the time he’d picked Octavia and Clarke up from the party, got them up a flight of stairs and into bed. After which he’d sleepily slunk back under his own covers, grateful for the darkness to drown his anger and sadness.

That was until his phone blared out the guitar solo of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ followed by angry screaming, scaring the living shit out of him.

Miller, his best friend and fellow employee as a waiter/ barback at a club in town called _The Grounders,_ could be heard vaguely down the phone, behind a cacophony of chants and house music. Long story short, Miller and Murphy (a fellow lacrosse player and friend of Bellamy’s) were balls-deep in work and it was only getting busier by the minute. Even though it was his first night off in almost 3 weeks, they needed him.

Almost letting out a sob, Bellamy had reluctantly dragged his exhausted body out of the welcoming folds of his bed, before pulling on _The Grounders_ ’ standard uniform of black jeans and a tight-black t-shirt. Grabbing his jacket from a hook on the back of his bedroom door, he’d tiptoed across the hall to check in on his girls. Octavia was sleeping soundly as per usual: on her side, with one leg out and on top her duvet, letting out a soft snore every other breath. He smiled at the sight. She’d been the same ever since she was big enough to have her own bed. Some things never changed.

Clarke, on the other hand, was making soft, whimpering noises, so quiet he probably wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been holding his breath so as not to wake them up. Frowning, he dropped his jacket lightly just outside the door, before sliding through the narrow gap between the door and the frame. If he opened it any wider, he’d risk ‘The Creak’ (something 12 year old him and 7 year old Octavia had discovered whilst trying to sneak their mum a surprise breakfast-in-bed on her birthday).

Having made it across the room to Clarke’s bedside without waking either of them, he allowed himself to take shallow breaths. Studying the blonde beneath him, he noticed the thin layer of sweat that had collected on her forehead. She was also clutching the covers to her chest, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were a deathly white. He had frowned once more, before gently pulling the cover back from her grip. With a louder whimper, she threw her head to the side in such a way he was worried she’d given herself whiplash. She didn’t attempt to grab the comforter back though. Instead, she parted her mouth slightly, gasping until her chest shuddered. Bellamy felt his eyes grow wide at the sight. Felt his own mouth open slightly at the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the faded red dye of her lips.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he bit back a grunt, before tearing his eyes away from her face and towards her jeans. They had to go. Not because he wanted them to (she was practically unconscious, he wasn’t an animal) but because of the heat of her skin. Clarke was too warm. Rubbing his hands over his face roughly, he stared down at the small figure bellow him. Just looking at her, Bellamy felt the same constricting of his chest he’d felt earlier, when her eyes had glazed over, as if she was shutting down on him. It was the same feeling he’d had when she’d mumbled some half-hearted excuse before running away from him, or when he’d followed her because he knew she was trying her best not to let the knot inside her come undone, or when he’d watched her stumble, heard the sobs, felt the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. His constricting chest.

Bending down slowly, wincing at the burn in his thighs and shoulders, he shifted until he was knelt by her waist. Proceeding with MI5 level precaution, he began to undo the 6 buttons of her jeans (motherfucking high-waists), acutely aware of how awkward and embarrassing and absolutely mortifying this would be if she were to wake up right this second. Despite this, he knew it was unlikely. Ever since he had scooped her up off the pavement, she’d been out like a hedgehog in winter.

Bellamy Blake may have a reputation as a player, a man-slag even, but he would never, ever do something as vulgar as trying to “ _love”_ someone without their permission. All those girls he’d been with had wanted what he’d given them, he always checked, checked and double checked. Always had, always would.

Once all the buttons were undone, he drew in a large, shaky breath, before checking to see Clarke’s eyes were still closed. They were. Nodding to himself, he pulled up one knee so he had more leverage, before shimmying the jeans down her shapely legs. She mumbled something incoherent, causing his heart to leap up into his mouth, before settling again. Closing his eyes briefly in relief, he dragged the sweaty jeans the rest of the way down, removing her socks at the same time. Bundling them under his arm to put in the laundry, he stood so he was once more towering over her. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled the comforter back up, tucking her in like he used to do for O.

Without realising, he had moved his hand from the comforter to her face, where he began stroking the damp wisps of her golden hair. A small smile graced his tired face as she nuzzled into his palm like a cat, a content smile appearing on her own face. Bending down once more, he place a soft kiss on her forehead, his smile widening as the lines that had been there only moments ago were chased away by his lips. Giving her forehead one last stroke with his thumb, he’d turned and walked out, grabbing his jacket before padding lightly down the stairs. Stopping to put Clarke’s jeans and socks in the laundry basket, before sliding on his shoes and shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

His shift had finished at around 4 am, but he didn’t stumble out for another hour as there were tables to clean and barrels to fill. By the time he’d manage to escape his boss and the desperate grabs of drunken hen parties, it was 5 am and the sky was a breath-taking blend of light pinks, purples and blues. It was the small moments like this, when he could stare up at the sky and get lost in the vastness that Bellamy felt the happiest. Unfortunately, such moments never lasted long.

Having practically flung himself into his pale blue Fiat, stabbing the key into the ignition, he’d let out a loud groan when the little car let out a stuttering grunt, before flat lining. After trying to start the ignition twice more, he’d resorted to rhythmically slamming his head against the steering wheel.

Minutes that felt like hours passed until he finally lifted his head, wincing slightly at the brightness of the rising sun. Bringing his wrist up until it was mere inches from his face, he checked the time on his father’s old watch. 5:23am. His entire being physically cringed. His shift at the garage started at 7am, close to 15 minutes away from his current location by car, however now that he would probably have to go on foot, he was sure he could jog it in 30. Making him over an hour early. The approximate time of the journey from the staff car-park of _The Grounders_ to home by jogging on the other hand, was only 20 minutes in the other direction. Yet, by the time he’d got home, got changed, grabbed some breakfast and made the 50 minute run to the garage, he’d be late for his shift. And although he was on good terms with Jaha (his boss) he really couldn’t risk losing this job. They were desperate times after all.

Having made up his mind, he’s dragged himself out of the car and over to the trunk. After a bit of rummaging around in all of his and Miller’s junk, he finally found what he was looking for. His gym shorts from earlier that he’d hurriedly thrown in after Miller’s panicked call and 1 of his 3 work tops for the garage. Maybe it kind of paid to be un-organised and never clean your car. Using the cramped back seat as a make-shift changing room- which was atrociously uncomfortable for his broad frame- he wrestled his way back out the car, throwing in his Grounder’s uniform for later.

_Memo to self: wash drunk bride-to-be’s vomit off top by tonight._

Once the car was locked, he took out his phone and shoved his earphones in, before scanning through the tracks. Deciding on ‘Lose Yourself’, one of his work-out favourites, he began to jog at a steady pace in the direction of the garage.

Being an athlete and all meant that Bellamy was in very good shape. So much so that 20 minutes into his run, he was still breathing normally, only a thin layer of sweat breaking out on his tanned skin under the rising temperature of the sun which was gradually dominating the sky. His eyes were focused dead ahead. As he always did when he was exercising, he allowed the music to consume him. Focused solely on the rise and fall of his lungs, he dragged air in then expelled it. This was how he coped.

Coped with all the anger and sadness and loneliness.

He’d learnt early on that he couldn’t take it out on Octavia. It wasn’t her fault after all. Wasn’t her fault that their father was dead, or that his mother didn’t have enough time for them, or that all he could think about was where the next meal was coming from, or how they would pay the bills. He couldn’t take it out on his mom, because quite frankly she was never around. He couldn’t take it out on his friends at school, because then he’d see right past his charming smile. And when that day came, he’d lose everything.

For a while, he’d taken it out on Clarke. That stubborn blonde with so much sadness hidden in her eyes. Not hidden from him though. Not anymore. Which was obviously why he couldn’t be cruel to her anymore. Because she was sad… Not because he felt unexplainably happy when she was around or because he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and shield her from the world.

Nah, he wasn’t down for the soppy shit.

Not him.

Not exactly.

He was Bellamy Blake. Everyone either wanted to be him or be with him. He was desirable. Friendly. Well-mannered. Handsome. Totally and utterly invincible. Except when it came to the little blonde bombshell that was Clarke Griffin.

So he ran. And he punched things. And he hit people out of the way of a ball with a plastic stick. Occasionally, like 4 times a week, he would go off someplace with a girl who’d followed him round that day, cooing at his every breath. They were all-to-happy to oblige. Truthfully, he always felt a burning guilt in the pit of his stomach when he’d kiss them on the cheek, a hopeful look in their eyes and walk away, knowing he probably would never talk to them again. The same feeling always occurred, but stronger, when he saw them bawling their eyes out around school. He didn’t even have to ask. He saw the looks they gave him, he heard the rumours. And much to his self-loathing, he evenly heartily accepted every pat on the back he received for his latest “triumph”.

One thing he did always do, however, was remember their names. Every single one of them. Of course, it wasn’t much, and it would never do justice to what he’d done, what he’d made them feel, but it gave him slight peace-of-mind.

He was suddenly brought out of his reverie by a sign. A giant yellow M to be exact. Checking his watch as he slowed to a walk, he reasoned that he’d have plenty of time to nip in and get a coffee. Maybe even a bacon and egg roll. He almost fainted at the thought. Taking a detour across the deserted street, he made his way into the ever-welcoming building that was the 24 hour McDonalds, shaking away his previous thoughts. Removing his earphones, he made a bee-line for the counter, vaguely aware of a group of people in the far corner by the window in various states of slouches. Other than that, he was alone. After making his order, he pulled out his phone, replying to a text from Miller thanking him for helping out. He was about to take a seat when he heard one of the slouchers call out his name.

Looking up in confusion, he saw a dark-skinned boy gesturing for him to come closer. He recognised the face. Wells Jaha, the principle's son and a junior lacrosse player whom Bellamy had been coaching for the next season. Nodding his head in response, he slowly made his way over to the group, who, at closer inspection, seemed to be the friends of his very own little blonde bombshell. They didn’t, however, seemed to be in very good shape. Coming to a stop by the table, he smirked, knowing the looks on their faces oh-so-well. Oh yes. That was the 6am-coffee-and-fries-hangover-cure-at-McDonalds-because-I-feel-like-the-room-is-spinning-and-I-did-embarassing-stuff-I-regret-last-night-look. The smirk turned into a full-blown smile as he remembered the good times when he, Miller, Murphy and some of the other guys had worn that very look.

“Hey Jaha, wild night?” he flashed his best, well-rehearsed smile. It had started off as a fake smile- the charming grin that seemed to get him anything he wanted- but somewhere along the way, he’d used it so much that he’d forgotten what his real one looked like. Forgot what it felt like to have his smile in his eyes. His rhetorical question was met with a groan by a beautiful brunette with caramel skin and puppy-dog eyes. He also knew this face. Ruby or Rachael or something. Seems she had enough self-respect to steer clear of him. Taking a glance around the rest of the group, he noticed that one guy, wearing goggles around his neck, was actually asleep, with his head thrown back against the chair and his mouth hanging open. Another, smaller boy was sat next to him, muttering to himself as he manically wrote and scribbled out words on what looked like a recipe to something called ‘Monty’s Moonshine’. Wells was sat next to him, looking worried, on-edge. Opposite them was the girl, who had her head resting against the shoulder of a guy with shoulder-length hair.

“You could say that,” came the exhausted reply from Wells.

“What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you’d seen Clarke?” Bellamy felt his eyes widen slightly and his throat seemed to close. What the fuck was he meant to tell them without making it seem like she was just another one of his hook-ups? For some reason, the thought of using Clarke in that way made him queasy.

“Clarke?” Bellamy found himself incapable of doing anything but repeat her name.

“Yes. Clarke,” Wells sounded as weary as Bellamy felt.

“Bout yay-high, blonde hair, gymnast?” this time it was the guy with shoulder-length hair speaking. His voice was rough, as if his throat was raw, probably from singing.

“Right yeah, I think O brought her back from the party,” he said, trying to keep his face impassive so as to not give anything away. What was the big deal though? Normally he wouldn’t mind people thinking he’d slept with someone, especially if she was hot.

“O?” the girl questioned. Bellamy shifted from one foot to the other, trying to use _the force_ to telepathically tell the guy making his coffee to hurry the fuck up.

“Yeah, my sister, Octavia,” he stated, slight irritated that they didn’t know who she was. Or at least what her nickname was anyway. Suddenly, the little guy who’d been scribbling on paper, snapped his head up and met Bellamy’s tired eyes with a sharp, almost disbelieving look. Then he turned to the sleeping boy to him and started jabbing him in the ribs until he woke with a start. The boy then whispered something inaudible into goggle boy’s ear, before turning round to look at Bellamy once more. Those sharp eyes were beginning to make him squirm.

“Right,” said Wells, his nose scrunched at the two boy’s whispers and stares, seemingly just as confused as Bellamy. “Well can you tell her to check her phone or something? And that I’ll see her tomorrow.”

Coffee Guy called out his order from the counter, so he gave a brief nod of understanding to Wells, before loosely saluting the rest of the motley bunch, turning on his heels and walking away. He was 15 minutes early to work.

It had been just past noon when he arrived home to find a scarcely dressed Clarke punching the lights out of their fire alarm whilst standing on a chair (on her tiptoes as well) in the middle of his kitchen. Such a sight had perked up his day considerably.

He’d only been lying face down in bed for around 4 minutes (4 minutes of bliss nevertheless), when he heard Octavia’s rambling voice approaching his bedroom door. Swinging it open with too much force so it hit the wall, causing him to flinch, she marched in without invitation. Her rambling was louder now, obviously aimed at him. Something about Clarke and showers and she’d be back from work around 5 and to make Clarke comfortable until then. Then, faster than he could say “slap my ass and call me Judy”, she was kissing the back of his head before practically sprinting out his room and down the stairs.

3 minutes later, his phone pinged, slightly muffled by his comforter.

_Octavia Blake 12:19pm- BE NICE TO CLARKE GRIFFIN_

_Octavia Blake 12:19pm- I MEAN IT BELLAMY_

_Octavia Blake 12:20pm- AND DON’T STARE AT HER ARSE KAY???????_

_Octavia Blake 12:20pm- Bell srsly Clarke has been so good to me I’ll explain later okay? buT TRUST ME I N E E D CLARKE GRIFFIN TO STAY MY FRIEND_

_Octavia Blake 12:22pm- oh and I love you you’re awesome don’t hate me for last night okay?xoxox_

_Octavia Blake 12:22pm- I’ll make it up to you!! I’m sorry I didn’t listen_

_Octavia Blake 12:23pm- I’m sorry. xoxox_


	8. A tragic love story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's some fluff  
> AS you can probably tell I'm a fan of Marvel  
> Thinking next chapter might be Octavia's POV?  
> oh and lets not talk about the finale E V E R  
> Happy Readiing :)

Chapter 8

_“Clarke baby, I need to tell you something okay?” Ugly tears streamed down her face. I watched her kneel in front of me, and place a shaking hand on my knee, but I couldn’t feel it. Her bottom lip quivered and she looked as if she was about to crumble into dust._

_“It’s daddy. Oh sweetie-“ she started sobbing. I gripped the cold plastic of the hospital chair. Everything here was so clinical: the white walls, the grey chairs, the lab coat my mom was wearing. I think that’s why her emotion seemed so out of place. That’s why I was so out of place. Sat there, barely breathing, trying to convince myself that if I held my breath, what had happened wouldn’t be real. My blonde hair was in two pig tails. I was wearing my very first pink leotard that my dad had bought me when I passed my math test not 2 weeks ago._

_My throat burned in an effort not to cry. I may have been 10 but I wasn’t stupid. When sat in a hospital with a doctor who is in tears, never expect to hear good news. Despite my best efforts, I choked out a sob as my mom cupped my cheek with her free hand. Staring into her familiar eyes, I felt compelled to nod, as if to encourage her to speak. She smiled a small smile. Taking both my hands in hers, she brought them to her lips and kissed them, before bowing her head and clutching them to her heart. I remember asking her years later why she did this. She said it was because she couldn’t bear to look at me._

_Then, she spoke. Her voice was so quiet, so unstable with her hiccupping sobs that at first, I thought I’d misheard her. So I didn’t react. It wasn’t until she squeezed my hands and lay her head on my lap, whispering “I’m so sorry”s did I realise._

_I remember it feeling like someone had put a sword in my chest and twisted it. All air was taken from my lungs and I was left gasping like a fish out of water. Helpless. But I didn’t cry. Not until later that night, anyway. When I was alone. Besides an endless dull ache in my chest, I just felt numb. I felt nothing._

_It was as if part of me had died with him._

_I didn’t speak a word for the next 2 days. Not even when Ivy cried to me, begging me to say something. To answer her desperate pleas. I could barely look her in the eye. She was only 6._

_“Where’s daddy Clarke?”_

_“Why is mommy crying Clarke?”_

_“Clarke? I’m scared.”_

_I just kept replaying the words in my head. More and more they consumed me. That hospital room with the white walls and the grey chairs. Mom- she looked so broken… so lost._

_“On his way to pick you up, daddy was in a car accident. Some- some stupid man who had too much to drink he, he… Oh God. Oh God, Clarke, he hit him. He hit daddy and daddy banged his head. I’m so sorry baby, but he didn’t make it. He’s gone. Daddy’s gone. I’m so sorry baby.”_

_“I’m so sorry baby.”_

Switching the water to cold, Clarke tipped back her head and let it stream down her face, washing away the memories. Her skin broke out into goosebumps, causing her to shiver, but it was refreshing. She’d always preferred the cold.

Turning off the shower completely and stepping out the cubicle, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her chest, tucking it in below her armpit so it stayed put. Sighing in pleasure at how fresh she felt, her hangover almost non-existent, she wiped away a circle in the steamed-up mirror to check her reflection. Her hair, now wet, clung to her face. There was a pinkish blush to her cheeks in place of her generally pale complexion and her eyes (whilst still heavy with sleep deprivation) shone a little brighter than she remembered. However, the biggest difference to her was one that couldn’t be seen in a mirror.

The endless dull ache in her chest which had plagued her for the past six years seemed a little lighter. Not a lot. It wasn’t even close to being gone but it had still lessened. Such a feeling made her smile. As she stood there, alone in the bathroom of her new good friend and her frenemy, smiling to herself like a buffoon, she couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe, if today was in fact the loop the loop of a rollercoaster, she was beginning to enjoy the ride.

Padding over to the chair in the corner of the tiled room, she picked up the clothes Octavia had left for her whilst her top had gone in the laundry. Strangely enough, her jeans were already in there.

Donning the black sports shorts and rather large grey jumper, she returned to her spot in front of the mirror. Picking up a hairbrush that lay on a table next to the sink, she dragged it through her hair, wincing as she pulled it through wind-swept knots. Once she could easily stroke her fingers through her hair, she pulled it up into a pony tail, not pulling it all the way through on the last twist of the bobble so that it hung as an almost-bun. She then slipped on a pair of pale grey ankle socks and hung the towel back up on the rail, before grabbing the tube of toothpaste from the sink as an after-thought, and squirting a bit onto her finger so she could rub it on her tongue. Kinda gross, but the best she could do given the circumstances.

After Octavia had rushed out to work (waitressing at a quaint little café downtown), Clarke had been left with directions to the bathroom and strict instructions to ‘ignore Bellamy and relax’.

Both of those things were easier said than done.

After learning from Octavia that it was in fact Bellamy who had chased her, carried her to the car and then helped her into bed (she knew it was kinda obvious but it didn’t hurt to be sure), she couldn’t help but decide to make an effort with him. Even though the last time she’d decided to give him a chance, he’d been a total douche monkey and looked at her like she was a piece of meat, Clarke was one to believe in second chances. Also, she was becoming pretty powerless to Bellamy’s whole ‘affectionate gentleman side’ that she assumed previously was just a way to manipulate girls into his pants. She couldn’t help but feel warm whenever he was around. Content. And, if someone was holding a gun to her head, she might even say that he made her feel safe. That, more than anything, was what made Clarke want to give him another shot. Sure, his heart was as big as his smile and he didn’t seem to be far off looking like Apollo the Greek God, but anyone who made her feel safe made her curious. She hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

Not that it made any difference whether they became friends or not. She knew how this would end. How it always ends. She’d push them away. Because they can’t leave you if you push them away first. They couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them in. The easiest way to not get your heart broken is to pretend you don’t have one. That was what she must always remember.

Opening the bathroom door, she stepped out onto the landing. Faintly, the sound of the Marvel comic clip at the beginning of any of their films could be heard. She’d know that sound anywhere. It was her guilty pleasure. The movies, the TV show spin-offs, the cast, all of it. None of her friends understood, they all watched The Walking-Dead instead. Clarke, however, could never really get into it. Letting her curiosity get the better of her, she tiptoed down the stairs, pausing briefly at the bottom to let to allow herself to be guided by the sounds.

Once she’d reached a partially open door, from which the start of Captain America: The First Avenger could be heard, she stalled. She knew that Bellamy was behind the door. Just her and Bellamy in the whole house. Taking a deep breath to supress her sudden nerves, she pushed open the door gently. Biting her bottom lip, she shuffled round until she was in the room, softly shutting the door behind her, sealing her fate. There was silence. She was beginning to wonder whether he was even in the room and was about to turn around and scan the room when she heard the TV pause. Turning slowly in the direction of the sofa, she didn’t lift her head, instead choosing to stare at her suddenly interesting ankle socks. That was until she heard him speak.

“What are you wearing?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. Clarke suppressed a shudder. Lifting her head up and raising an eyebrow in question, she tugged the hem of the hoodie down slightly, conscious that Octavia’s shorts were… well… rather short.

“That’s mine,” he rushed out. Clarke knitted her brow, unsure of what he was talking about. This caused him to blush slightly and he raised his hand to rub the back of his neck. The lights were off and the curtains drawn, but from where he was lay on the sofa, legs sprawled out with his knees bent in different directions, it was clear to see his white t-shirt rising up from the hem of his grey joggers, revealing those famous abs from the action. It was Clarke’s turn to blush. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before laughing quietly.

“I _mean,”_ he stressed the word, “that you’re wearing my hoodie.”She must have looked alarmed so he quickly added, “I didn’t mean to sound so blunt, it’s just I was looking for that earlier.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I- Octavia gave it to me whilst my top is in the wash, I can go change if you want.” She began to back away from him, rather embarrassed, towards the door. She should never have come in. Suddenly, he shot up from his position on the couch, blurting out a “No, it’s fine, I just…” before sighing again and sinking back onto the couch, throwing his arms over his face and officially revealing his toned stomach. Clarke couldn’t help but lick her bottom lip.

“It’s been a long day, I’m tired, ignore me!” he said dramatically. Clarke snorted.

“Like you know what tired feels like,” she muttered under her breath, so quietly she thought he hadn’t heard her. No such luck. When she’d said that, she had turned her face so she was looking at the TV screen, but now, out of the corner of her eye, she could see him slowly remove his arms from his face. Blushing heavily, she was thankful that the room was so poorly lit, the only light coming from the blare of the TV.

“Oh really, Princess? And you do, I suppose? What is it? Are your royal mattresses not comfy enough?” he sounded amused but his jokes stirred up irritation in her stomach.

“Like I said last night Bellamy, you know nothing about me, okay?” She made no effort to hide her annoyance. Turning once more so she was staring him straight in the face, she tried her hardest not to look at his tanned skin or to reciprocate his infectious smile.

“No,” he said simply, his smile growing impossibly wider.

“No?” she spluttered, her voice raising an octave or two.

“No, it’s not okay that I know nothing about you. Especially when you’re wearing my clothes. Not many girls enjoy such a privilege,” he challenged, arching an eyebrow. Her laugh was genuine, like a melody into the still air.

“Oh pur-lease Bellamy! Everybody knows that more girls have been in your pants than there are States of America.” To this, he mocked offense, throwing a hand to his chest.

“I am insulted!” he exclaimed, a grin once again gracing his face. She cocked her head to the side, failing to hide her own smile. Silence descended. It wasn’t, however, an awkward silence, but a comfortable one. One old friends share. Still, she remained standing by the door, as if waiting for an invitation to walk further into the room. As if reading her mind, Bellamy drew his legs up slightly, leaving at least half the couch for her to sit. Smiling gratefully, she took a seat, timidly tucking her legs beside her, trying to take up as little room as possible. He was staring at her, his face impassive. Just staring. It made her nervous. Vulnerable.

Taking one of the hoodie’s toggles into her mouth, she pulled the sleeves down over her hands and fiddled with the cuffs. Staring straight ahead, she willed herself not to look at him until she couldn’t take it anymore. Meeting his gaze, she breathed in sharply. Now she was closer to him, she could see the freckles that dusted his nose. She envied his cheek bones and the messiness of his hair caused her breath to hitch slightly. He still stared at her, silently, a smile tugging at his mouth when she raised her eyebrows at him. He chose this moment to look away, now grinning like an idiot before pressing play on the remote, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa and shuffling back.

Immediately, he seemed entranced by the film, his lips partly ever so slightly. Clarke couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed occasionally as he swallowed. Following the motion, she found herself admiring the muscles now revealed by the position of his arm over the sofa.

“See something you like, Princess?” Without turning to look at her, he spoke firmly, his smirk evident in his voice. Clarke was taken by surprise, jerking her head up from where she’d been eyeing up his body, staring at his profile, before huffing- to hide her embarrassment- and turning to face the TV screen.

They’d been sat in comfortable silence, both engrossed by the film, for at least 15 minutes. Throughout which, they took turns to glance at each other, both of them getting braver with each stare, looking for a little longer, letting their gaze travel a little further. Clarke was the first one to break the tranquillity, shifting slightly to try and get rid of her dead leg. A sharp pain shot up to her hip as pins and needles set in, causing her to let out a soft gasp. He turned to her, concern evident on his face.

“Dead leg,” she offered him a weak smile, continuing to shift a little bit at a time. He gave her a sympathetic smile, before patting at the space in-between them, which had so far acted as a barrier between her legs and his. She hesitated, wondering if he was serious or not. She didn’t want to be the first one to ruin their unspoken truce. They’d done so well for the past 17 minutes. It was definitely a record. Lost in her debate whether to take him up on his offer or not, she couldn’t help but let out a squeak when she felt warm hands wrap around her ankles, pulling her none-too-gently towards him. He pulled them right up to rest on his lap, in-between his open legs, his hands not leaving her ankles. She whined slightly, mockingly kicking him in the ribs but not withdrawing them. His smile was breath-taking. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Bellamy wha-“ She began as he slid his hands down to the arches of her feet. She was interrupted, however, when he began to tickle her. She gasped in surprise before letting out squeaks of laughter, writhing around trying to escape his firm grip. His laugh was deep, vibrating up through her legs and into her stomach, sending it into a frenzy.

“Bellamy!” she whined, somewhat self-conscious of how childish her voice sounded. Once he’d began to stroke the tops of her socks, however, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Both smiling at each other like idiots, Clarke kicked him lightly again, causing him to chuckle.

“Hate you,” she huffed, betrayed by her smile. His smile faltered slightly.

“Do you? Because Clarke, after what I said to you the other day, I’ve been meaning to apologise, it was stupid and dumb and I’m sorry.” He held her gaze, his own was steady. The authenticity of his apology was emphasised when he squeezed her feet slightly. After a moment, she flashed him a tired smile.

“Nah, I don’t hate you. Bygones, right?”

“Bygones,” he agreed, smiling once more.

“So, why are you so tired then?” Clarke asked, feeling more confident now. He shrugged slightly. Clarke failed to dismiss the contracting of the muscles under his thin shirt.

“Like I said, long day,” he said, briefly. She whined again, kicking him. She was learning to enjoy doing that. He sighed through a smile, sliding his hands back up her legs until he found an old scar on her left leg, and a bruise on her right. He raised an eyebrow in question to which she shook her head.

“You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours,” she huffed, defiantly.

“I did answer your question,” he was now idly stroking her scar and bruise, breaking their gaze he hung his head to stare at her feet. She felt her heart begin to pound faster, worried that she’d hit a nerve. In seconds he’d gone from the self-assured Bellamy Blake she was familiar with to this vulnerable… boy.

“Hey,” she said, surprised by the unexpected gentleness of her voice. Looking up at her again, she felt her heart clenched as the bags under his eyes seemed so much heavier than they had mere seconds ago. Biting her bottom lip, she inhaled deeply unsure how to proceed.

“Gymnastics,” she stated, relief flooding through her as he smiled once more. This encouraged her to continue.

“I was eight, and my dad was helping me in the back-garden. I was learning how to do a standing back-flip, but on a trampoline for practice. Like you said, I’m a determined athlete, so I wouldn’t go in when my dad did, instead choosing to fall over and over again. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t get it! So I got off the trampoline and tried to do it from standing. Obviously, it was in vain I mean, my technique was all wrong, but that’s not the point. Long story short, I landed on my stomach and impaled my leg on a garden fork.” There was silence. Until Bellamy began to laugh. At first, it was a rush of air out of his nose, but it broke into hysterical laughter (resulting in tears) when a frown appeared on her face.

“Oi!” She tried pushing him in the stomach with the balls of her feet, but he only increased his grip on her legs. “I don’t do the whole ‘sharing’ thing okay? I’m not exactly an open or emotional person. So, you should cherish this moment because it will probably never happen again.”

At her confession, his laughter subsided, but the grin remained on his face. “I work a couple jobs because well… times are hard for people who aren’t as fortunate as you, no offense.” She shrugged.

“None taken.”

“Anyway, last night was meant to be my night off from working at _The Grounders_ but they called me after I’d picked you two party animals up,” he said, grinning. She bit back a smile, nudging him with her feet instead.

“Shut up!” she mumbled.

“So I worked till 5 this morning, then my car wouldn’t start and my shift at the garage started at 7 so I had to run across town. Oh, by the way, I ran into your friends in McDonalds looking a bit worse-for-wear. Wells wants you to check your phone and told me to tell you that he’ll see you tomorrow.” At this, she wrinkled her nose.

“What?” he queried.

“Nothing, it’s just, he wants to come watch me at practice tomorrow and I don’t like it when he does that because he tries to coach me… like my dad use to.” She shrugged again, biting her lip. Her whole body tensed, so he squeezed her feet again and looked into her eyes, his own wide with concern. She tore her eyes away, afraid they’d betray her and that he’d see through her. Usually, she’d be confident that no-one was capable of that, but time after time, Bellamy Blake was proving her wrong. Instead, she turned to watch Steve Rogers dancing on stage with a load of cheerleaders. In her peripheral vision, she saw him continue to study her for a while, before obviously deciding to let it go, and turning to watch the movie.

They sat like that, him stroking small circles into her legs, which were resting between his, heads throw back onto the back of the sofa. Clarke found that she couldn’t get as engrossed in the movie as she could before, mostly due to the fact that she was super-aware of the feeling of his calloused hands rubbing against her skin. Or that she could hear every breath he took as if he was sat inches from her. Occasionally, they’d trade comments (it became obvious that they were both absolute Marvel dorks) and when it got to the part where Steve had to crash the plane, she inevitably welled up.

She tried to conspicuously wipe away her tears, to no avail as he glanced over to her, letting out a small laugh before releasing her legs from his grip and opening his arms in invitation. Looking at him quizzically through watery eyes, she sniffed pathetically. Sighing, he leant forward, lightly but firmly grabbing her wrists and pulling them, until she was forced to move towards him. He then led her under his arm, tucking her into his side so she was curled up, with her head resting on his shoulder, her legs tucked up next to his. At first, she didn’t know what to do. Taken by surprise, she found herself sat tensely, suddenly unsure about what she usually did with her hands. She wasn’t exactly use to physical contact.

Her uncertainty seemed to be obvious, as she felt more than heard Bellamy start to chuckle, his thumb drawing circle onto her clothed bicep. As he spoke, his chest vibrated against hers, sending a warmth flooding through her veins and making her strangely drowsy.

“I thought you weren’t an emotional person?” Whilst his tone was teasing, it was also sympathetic.

“Shut up, the next time they see each other, she can barely remember him. It’s a tragic love story!” she argued.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Princess, you’re secret’s safe with me.” Without even having to look up, she knew that he was smirking. This comment earned him a slap on his chest. His very firm chest. They sat in silence until the movie finished, after which they Bellamy got up to change the disk to Ironman 1. (He’d voted for Thor. She had won). As soon as he had stood up, she’d laid down, placing her head where he’d been sat and stretching her legs out to cover as much of the sofa as she could. Once he’d changed the disk, and pressed play, he turned around and saw her lying there, smirking at him and couldn’t help but smirk right back.

“I think you have a thing for taking my spaces and labelling the as your own, Princess,” he said. Her smile grew wider as she quipped; “on your feet, lose your seat!” The mischievous glint returned to his eyes, and, as he started to advance towards her, she retreated further back into the couch.

“No. No-no-no. Bellamy don’t you dare-“ But before she could finish, he was already upon her, tickling her until she was screaming, in tears. His laughter rang soundly in around her, completing her. Her eyes were scrunched shut as she struggled to control her breathing, but she felt him move from his place hovering above her, to slide in behind her so he was wedged between her and the couch.

Wordlessly, they moved in synch to accommodate each other, as if they’d done this a million times before. In the end, they lay facing the TV, Bellamy’s front to Clarke’s back; him being so tall meant that he practically blanketed her, his chin resting on her shoulder, one arm draped around her waist doodling random shapes onto the skin he’d gone under the hoodie to find.

Sighing contently, she snuggled back into his embrace, entangling her legs with his. They lay this way for the entire trilogy of Ironman’s (Clarke got up to change the disk and every time she did so, he would moan at the loss of her body heat and she’d almost collapse at the sound), until, eventually, his breathing evened out and his doodling seized. He was dead asleep. Smiling to herself, Clarke linked her hand with the one around her waist, anchoring him to her. Slowly, she let herself be lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his chest at her back, happy in the knowledge that she’d been right to give him another chance. If someone had told her yesterday that she’d be spooning with Bellamy Blake whilst watching her favourite movies in less than 24 hours, she would’ve laughed in their face. Now, however, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                


	9. White walls and grey chairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUY SRSLY TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER ARE:  
> domestic violence, child abuse, victim blaming and also some sexist language (I hate it as much as you but it had to be done)  
> PLS TAKE CARE  
> i am already bored of the haitus :(((  
> hope this answers some of your questions  
> Happy Reading :)

Chapter 9

4 days. Clarke had been crossing them off in her mind as they passed. 4 days since she’d woke in Bellamy’s arms, her face buried into his neck from where she must have turned over in her sleep. One of his arms was clutching her to him, simultaneously stopping her from falling off the sofa. His other hand was link with one of hers, whilst her free hand was clasping his shirt like a baby grabs a blanket. One of her legs was thrown over his, securing him to her and his face was pressed into her hair, his even breaths puffing warm air onto her head. She couldn’t help the smile on her face as she thought about that day. It seemed so perfect.

But at the same time, so cruel.

For Clarke, that day was a glimpse of how happy she could’ve been, if her life was ‘normal’. But her life wasn’t normal. Waking up in the strong arms of this compassionate boy, with one of the best sleeps she’d ever had fogging her mind, Clarke had almost forgotten why her life wasn’t normal. Why she couldn’t stay out all night with friends, dating boys and actually _laughing_. The welcome home she had gotten on Sunday night had been a harsh reminder. And every day since then. 4 days to be exact. Which is why she was sitting on the edge of the couch, her legs bouncing up and down of her own accord, forcing oxygen in and out of her lungs.

_Don’t let him see how afraid you are._

_Do this for her._

_You deserve this._

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears and her eyes burned with unshed tears at the knowledge of what was to come. But that burning was nothing compared to what she knew was coming.

Gravel crunched under the weight of his BMW.

The familiar tightening of her chest began and she couldn’t help but let out a small sob, rocking backwards and forwards slightly. Her phone, which lay face up on the coffee table in front of her, beeped, the screen blaring into the dark room. There were 5 unread messages.

**_Message from Octavia Blake-_ ** _Hey you! I didn’t see you in school today?? Is everything okay?? Talk to me if you need me I have like no life! Ly xxx_

**_Message from Raven Reyes-_ ** _OI! Clarke, are you alive???????? SOME FINN GOSSIP TO TELL YOU_

**_Message from Wells Jaha-_ ** _WHERE WERE YOU TODAY MAN?_

**_Message from Ivy Griffin-_ ** _I’m so sorry. xxxx_

**_Message from Bellamy Blake-_ ** _Princess, I waited for you in the gym but you never showed? Are you okay?x_

Each message hit her like a punch in the gut.

The front door creaked open and slammed shut.

Scrunching her eyes shut, she willed the tears to stop falling. She was stronger than this. He wasn’t worth her tears. Turning her phone over so she couldn’t see the messages, she took a large breath, before opening her eyes and pushing off the sofa to stand.

Footsteps approached the back of the sofa.

Aside from that, the house was silent.

All the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Sneaking a glance at the clock on the mantel- piece above the roaring fire, she committed the time to memory. 7:08pm. Strangely enough, this was one of her many methods to lessen the pain. As odd as it might seem, looking at the situation in a clinical way helped Clarke distance herself from what was about to happen. She guessed that the clinical thing came from the day her mom told her that her dad was dead. If she imagined the grey chairs and the white walls where emotion didn’t belong, she would be fine.

“You didn’t go to school today.” It was a question stated as a fact, therefore she knew not to answer. “Care to explain why?” Darting her tongue out to wet her lips, she gulped heavily, trying to dampen her rapidly drying throat.

“You know why,” she croaked, her back still to him.

There was an excruciatingly loud silence.

The clock ticked ominously.

Then twice.

By the third tick, she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm, dragging her roughly to the corner of the room and throwing her up against the wall, causing her to smack her head in the process. Gasping in pain, she shut her eyes in a desperate attempt to make the room stop spinning.

“Open your eyes, Clarke,” he hissed, shaking her slightly until she complied. He was practically vibrating with anger, the stench of alcohol that radiated from him, drowning her. Eyes so dark they were almost black, looked down at her in disgust. He smirked down at her, inching closer so when she inhaled, her chest brushed his.

“Is it because of this?” he spoke in a mocking voice, as if he was speaking to an infant. The very tone made her want to knee him in the dick, but she’d done that before and she had no desire to take the belt again. When he raised a worn hand to caress her bruise, she involuntarily flinched away from him, causing him to snarl.

Suddenly, his forearm was against her throat, effectively pinning her to the wall and making her hit her head again. She let out a groan of pain. Now that she was unable to move away from him, he proceeded to prod at the bruise he had created just beneath her eye the night before. Each time he pressed the point of his index finger into it Clarke clenched her fists and stared into the space beyond his shoulder, trying desperately to think of anything but the gradually increasing burning sensation that was spreading across her cheek.

“WELL? IS IT?” he shrieked, spit flying out of his mouth and splattering onto her chin. Clarke wasn’t even alarmed. This was how it was. He could switch from childish to hysterical in milliseconds.

“Yes,” she gritted out.

“YES WHAT?”

“Yes… Sir,” she tried her hardest to refrain from being sarcastic.

“CARE TO TELL ME WHY? BECAUSE, IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, YOU MADE ME DO THIS TO YOU. SO, CLARKE, WHY THE FUCK SHOULD YOU GET A DAY OFF WHILST I AM SLAVING AWAY BEHIND A DESK TO PAY TO PUT YOUR SLUTTY ASS THROUGH COLLAGE IN THE NEXT FEW YEARS?” His nasal voice rang loudly in her ears, his words slurred by alcohol. It was at times like this where she wished for eternal silence. She briefly wondered if it was silent wherever her dad was. She hoped so. The pressure of his arm against her neck increased slightly as she hesitated, causing her eyes to widen.

“I- I didn’t think you’d want people to be asking questions, Sir.” Her attempt to keep the pain out of her voice was in vain as it wavered.

“Bullshit,” he spat, releasing her from his grasp and stepping back from her, rolling up his sleeves in the process. Clarke was frozen to the spot, her legs paralysed in fear. Her eyes followed the movement of his hands as he un-buttoned his white shirt at the top and loosened his tie.

“You’re a liar Clarke. A slutty, pathetic liar. I know it. Your mom knows it. Hell, even Daddy dearest must’ve known it. How pathetic you are. I mean,” he let out a harsh laugh, “if you had just stayed at that competition like you were supposed to, instead of being a chickenshit and crying for Daddy to come and save you, then he would probably have never got in the car an hour early from work to race across town for you. Which means that he probably would never have been hit by that driver. And your mom wouldn’t be a widow, and your precious little sister would still have a dad, and you wouldn’t have to live with the fact that you killed him.” He was advancing towards her, swaying slightly under the influence of the whisky he’d probably all-but-inhaled whilst driving home. Her bottom lip trembled as his face stopped just inches from hers. Biting the inside of her cheek until she drew blood, she tried to block the cruel words out, instead picturing the white walls and the cold, grey, plastic chairs.

“You. Killed. Him.” He emphasized every word. Each one felt like a dagger to her heart.

“No,” she choked out, her voice disbelieving. She searched his eyes for any sign of pity, but all she found was hatred. Shaking her head in denial, she said it again, louder this time. “No!”

“Yes.”

She wanted to throw up. She wanted him to hit her and be over with it. But that wasn’t his style. No. This was Marcus Kane, entrepreneur, husband of Abby Griffin, and hater of Clarke Griffin. To those who didn’t know him, Kane seemed like a stand-up guy. The man next-door that you could borrow a power tool off, who had stepped up and taken the poor Griffin family under his wing after their family tragedy. Behind their expensive oak door, however, he was inconceivably different. Vindictive, violent and alcohol dependant, Marcus hadn’t liked Clarke from the beginning, mainly for the simple fact that Abby blamed her for her father’s death. Therefore, whenever Clarke made Abby upset (which seemed to be every time she opened her mouth) Marcus saw it as an excuse to let off a little steam.

Clarke had been 12 when her mom remarried. Ivy was 8. So, it made perfect sense to Clarke that if Kane was to be violent, and her mom was going to do nothing about it, it would be directed at her and not Ivy. Never Ivy. Headstrong like her father, she’d struck up a deal with her new father-in-law. She’d never tell a soul about what he did to her, if he didn’t touch Ivy. He’d begrudgingly agreed and hadn’t laid a finger on the youngest Griffin in all 4 years.

Sadly, the same could not be said for Clarke.

Throughout those 4 years, when the sleepless nights became too much, or when a teacher would ask her why her lip was cut, she’d come agonisingly close to giving up. To breaking down and telling them everything in the hope that she could just sleep one whole night without being plagued by nightmares or worried that Kane would go for Ivy in the night. It was that very thought that kept her from telling. If she was to keep Ivy safe, then she’d have to perfect that fake smile and just persevere. Because if she broke that deal, then there was nothing stopping him from lashing Ivy across the back 20 times with his favourite belt buckle like he did to Clarke.

The very thought made her heart drop to her stomach.

_Smack._

The harsh impact of his palm to her cheek almost knocked her off her feet.

“Yes,” he jeered again, a twisted smile now on his face. Before she could fathom an answer, his hand was wrapped around her neck, lifting her up and slamming her back against the wall again. Her vision blurred slightly and nausea washed through her.

_White walls, grey chairs. White walls, grey chairs. White walls, grey chairs._

He repeated the action, causing Clarke to groan in pain. Grasping pitifully at the hand around her neck, trying half-heartedly to lessen the pressure on her windpipe, she felt the familiar relief of unconsciousness seeping into her veins like heroine. Darkness ate away at the edges of her vision and her limbs went limp and heavy. Suddenly the vice around her neck was gone and she was dropped back down to her feet, swaying from side-to-side precariously. Her head ached almost as much as her heart.

The last thing she remembered before her body hit the wooded floor was his smile; malicious and triumphant, the enjoyment evident on his face. She struggled to make out the words his lips formed before everything went black, but once she deciphered them, she knew them to be true.

“You killed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I KNOW IM TRASH  
> fluff to come tho  
> and i actually like Marcus it's just i didn't know who else to use????


	10. Mr "I panicked and bought a Capri Sun"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY THIS WAS LATE MY LAPTOP CRASHED AND I LOST HALF THE CHAPTER AND HAD TO REWRITE  
> hope it was worth ittt  
> So urm this chapter was meant to be longer but then I thought it was too long so this is kind of chapter 10 part 1 and the next chapter is like part 2 if you catch my drift??  
> Hope you're all good  
> Happy reading :)))

Chapter 10

Bellamy Blake was having girl trouble.

He had been feeling curious about Clarke for a while now, and had even beguan to look forward to their daily arguments over the gym for practice, but Bellamy being Bellamy just assumed it was because he had the hots for her. He didn’t do relationships. Just one night stands.

That was until he slept with Clarke… without actually sleeping with her. Somehow, feeling her back against his chest and wrapping his arms around her whilst they slept felt more intimate than any sex he’d ever had. This led him to the conclusion that: a) he must be losing his mind and b) he had it _bad_ for Clarke Griffin.

Every time she smiled, his stomach would flip, and, if he was the one eliciting a laugh from her, well then, that put a literal meaning to ‘his heart skipped a beat’. He was intrigued to learn more about her. He wanted to spend endless days with her in his arms, doing a running commentary of their favourite movies. He wanted to see her paint (she had told him she loved painting on Monday whilst he walked her to the gym and watched her perform her routine for Nationals. He could watch her stretch in them gym shorts for centuries.)

They’d been talking more and more, whenever they could; lunch times, practice sessions, he even gave her a ride home on Wednesday after practice. Bellamy found himself craving every moment. Having counted down the days since Sunday (four in total so far), he concluded that he was beginning to gradually become co-dependant on her stupidly breath-taking smile. He would sit in class idly counting down the minutes until he could see her again. Unconsciously, he’d begun to look for her whenever he was in the corridor or the cafeteria. None of his friends knew about it, not even Miller. He had a reputation to uphold and he wasn’t about the throw that away for a feeling that might not even be reciprocated. Bellamy Blake was a lot of things; a fool wasn’t one of them.

That’s why, on the 4th day, when Bellamy inevitably looked for Clarke’s striking blonde hair amongst the dinner table full of her friends and came up empty handed, he found himself feeling nervous. Some busty girl was sat on his lap, trying to get his attention whilst Miller seemed to be having the time of his life sticking his tongue down a brunette’s throat opposite him. Two weeks ago, Bellamy would’ve been more than happy to chat this girl up, maybe get a quickie in the bathrooms out of it. Now, however, he only had one girl on his mind. And she was nowhere to be seen.

This irritated Bellamy. The fact that the only girl he could think about was a girl he could probably never have. Every day, two or three girls would willingly throw themselves at him; desperate for the chance to brag to their friends about a one night stand with Bellamy Blake (he had a reputation for being unforgettable in bed). Clarke, however, was too good for that. Too good for him. She didn’t swoon when the jocks wolf-whistled at her in the gym, she rolled her eyes. She didn’t beg for Bellamy’s attention, she just treated him like she would anyone else. Clarke Griffin was an anomaly. A force to be reckoned with. A challenge. A challenge he was more than willing to take on.

Shrugging Clarke’s absence off, he tried to focus on the girl in front of him. She seemed friendly enough, if not a little too eager. Twirling a lock of her mousy-brown hair between her delicate fingers, she made small-talk with him, all the while pushing her breasts into his face. He learnt that her name was Harper, that she was in Junior Year (Clarke’s Grade) and that she was originally from Chicago but had moved to Massachusetts when her mom got an awesome promotion. He, in turn, had told her that he liked dogs and that his favourite food was Ben & Jerry’s. This seemed to be enough for her, however, as before he knew it, her tongue was in his mouth and her hands were in his hair. At first, he thought about pushing her away, knowing that she wasn’t who he really wanted. However, after having an internal debate, he decided to just go with the flow in the hope that maybe his feelings for Clarke would just evaporate.

That didn’t happen.

Having spent his Thursday evening at practice (and waiting for Clarke), he was less surprised at how disappointed he was than he would’ve been four days ago. Instead, he found himself with his phone in his hand, texting her. It was 7:06pm and practice had just finished so she should have arrived around a half hour ago. But she hadn’t. And she didn’t reply either. Throwing his phone into his gym bag in anger, he sank down against the cool lockers. All his team members had left, the last one being Miller with his arm slung around the shoulders of the girl he’d been with at lunch. Now Bellamy was sat in the eerie yellow light of the sweat scented boys locker room, mentally berating himself for thinking that Clarke was ever the slightest bit interested in him. He wished there was a way of deleting texts you’d sent before the other person could see them. Taking a breath before standing up and fishing his phone out of the bag, he quickly typed a message and hit send before he could change his mind. Three minutes later, she replied:

**_Message from Harper of Chicago-_ ** _Yeah okay, I hope ur clean Blake ;) my place in 10?xx_

He wished there was a way of deleting text’s you’d sent before the other person could see them.

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The only thing worse than having trig first period on a Friday, was having trig first thing on a Friday with a hangover, as Bellamy was currently discovering. Having spent the night at Harper’s, leaving around 3am by sneaking out her window and shimmying down the drain-pipe, he was running on two hours sleep, four cups of coffee and a pop-tart. As he made his way down the over-crowded corridor, he found himself flinching every time somebody shut their locker door with a bang. He smirked briefly through the pain, however, as the sea of students filling up the hall seemed to part before him to make a path wide enough for him, Miller and Murphy to walk through. Sometimes, it was good to be popular.

Out of nowhere, he felt a hand clap his right shoulder and then Miller’s cheerful voice was in his ear. “Heard about you and Harper! Nice score, she’s definitely a strong eight man!” Before he could muster the energy to form a response, Miller was striding off ahead of him, calling out to some face in the crowd. Shaking his head with a laugh, Bellamy turned to Murphy.

“What you got? Except a criminal record.” (it was a long running joke between the three friends that fifteen year old John Murphy was once arrested and charged with ‘assaulting an officer’ when he slammed his trolley into an overweight cop in Walmart).

“H A H A, what’s it been? Three years?”

“And counting,” Bellamy replied with a smirk. Little by little, his hangover seemed to be ebbing away, along with last night’s regrets.

“Shut it Mr ‘I panicked and bought a capris sun’. I have Biology though.” On the day that Murphy had been arrested, Miller and Bellamy had been with him, shopping in Walmart for crappy food which they could devour in their annual two day Call of Duty marathon. It was, for the most part, their fault that Murphy crashed into the cop in the first place, as they had been the ones to sit him in the trolley and send him careering down the confectionary aisle. Miller had actually peed a little bit from laughing. Once they had heard a loud crash and a shout of pain, however, they had split up and pegged it out the shop, meeting up in the car park just in time to see Murphy being driven away in a cop car. In his hand, Bellamy had been holding an orange flavoured capris sun, and when Miller asked him about it, he blushed and said “I panicked and bought a capris sun”. Obviously, Miller had immediately informed Murphy of this news (once he’d been released from custody) thus, another long running joke had been formed.

Sticking his tongue out at his friend, Bellamy made a right turn to his locker, keying in the code by muscle memory alone. Swinging his door open with a bit too much gusto meant that it crashed open onto the surrounding lockers, causing him to grimace. His hangover might be fast dissipating, but it wasn’t gone. Scowling, he began to shove his books in his bag. Similar noises could be heard from the locker next to his, telling him that Murphy was doing the same, and once he’d grabbed his last book he shut his locker softly, before turning to ask whether Murphy whether he was at practice that night. The words froze on his tongue, however, when he saw a flash of blonde hair tunnelling through a group of overly loud sophomore girls.

Patting a bewildered looking Murphy on the back as he moved past him, Bellamy swung his backpack over one shoulder and he began to jog through the crowd. Occasionally, he’d see another flash of the familiar blonde hair, confirming that he was going the right way, but other than that, he had no idea what he was doing. Firstly, there was the problem that he’d just started running after a girl who may or may not be Clarke, which was an alarming thing in itself because Bellamy generally ran the opposite way to any girl he’d talked to for more than five minutes. Then there was the question as to _why_ he was running after this girl, because say if she was in fact Clarke, what exactly was it that he wanted to say to her? _“Hi, remember me? Yeah, I’m the guy you’ve argued with for the whole semester? The one who has a crush on you, which never happens to him ever because he can’t afford to lose anyone else by letting them get close, so instead he just pushes them away? He’s also the one who you ignored for a whole day yesterday?”_

Before he had time to think on it, however, he was directly behind her. She was still striding forward, struggling to pull a dark navy beanie over her golden waves, but her pace had slowed, allowing him to catch up with her.

“Hey, Princess,” he called, just loud enough to be heard over the babble of students surrounding them. Her confident stride faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly and continued to walk, not looking back once. Frowning, Bellamy tried again, beginning to feel irritated that she was treating him like he didn’t exist. It would be decent of her to at least tell him if she wasn’t interested, or for him to leave her alone, instead of torturing him like this.

“Clarke,” his voice was firmer now, his irritation seeping through. He noticed her the hand that was holding the strap of her backpack to her shoulder was clenching rhythmically, her knuckles draining of all colour in sync with every second step she took. Yet she continued to walk on. Dumfounded, Bellamy desperately tried to think of anything he could’ve done to make her behave like this. He was sure that the whole Harper thing hadn’t reached gossip levels yet, so it couldn’t be that. Also, Bellamy was fairly sure that Clarke was more likely to punch him in the dick than to ignore him for that. That was just who she was.

This, however, wasn’t the Clarke he knew.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, anger tinting his voice. Reaching out to the hand that was grabbing her bag, he gripped her wrist and stopped walking, spinning her round to face him in the process. His mouth was open, demands for an explanation forming on his lips when his eyes met hers. They were wide open and red around the edges. Her lips were parted as if she was about to say something, until she tore her gaze away from his steely one and clamped her jaw shut, seemingly finding something mesmerising on her tan combat boots. Bellamy continued to stare long after she began fiddling with the hem of her loose-fitting white t-shirt. He knew she was uncomfortable, and his heart ached to see her that look on her face. The one he’d seen on Octavia a few too many times. The look that told him she was trying to be brave. Her nostrils were flared. She was trying to be strong. Her gaze bounced from place to place. She was trying not to cry.

Time, impossibly, seemed to slow.

He said nothing.

She said nothing.

Yet the bruise on her cheek spoke too loudly.

Bellamy felt his chest expanding with too many emotions to suppress. Anger, hurt, guilt, pity, he felt them all so strongly. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in trying to control himself and not lash out at the next person who even looked at Clarke in the wrong way, he may have taken a moment to ponder why he was even feeling this way at all for someone who wasn’t family. After all, if they weren’t his sister, they weren’t his responsibility. But, he was in fact trying to control himself, so he let the thought slide. Instead, he channelled his energy into feeling the softness of her wrist under his palm. He wanted to move. To take her away from this crowded corridor and ask her the countless number of questions that were infiltrating his sleep-deprived mind. Yet his legs didn’t seem to get the memo. That was, until, the bell for first period rang, effectively clearing the corridor of most people and finally snapping Bellamy into action.

Taking a firmer grip on her wrist, he turned wordlessly and pulled her back the way they’d come. Tugging her suddenly into the girl’s bathroom, he was mildly surprised to receive no protest from her, as he was doubtful she’d ever skipped a class before. Releasing her from his grip, he paced the length of the room, stopping once he’d reached the far wall. Inhaling deeply, he massaged his temple with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes and taking the time to think of the right thing to say.

After minutes that felt like decades, he pivoted on the spot, not opening his eyes until he was facing the general direction of the door. She hadn’t moved from where he’d released her, as if the only thing keeping her moving was his grip. When he did, however, open his eyes, he momentarily forgot what he was about to say when he looked her up and down from a distance. Checking girls out had become second nature to him, but he was sure that no one had ever had the same effect on him that she had. Dressed in dark skinny jeans and a loose white t-shirt, she had bracelets and bangles on one arm, and an old watch on the other. Her fathers’, he recalled. Her bag had been dropped to the floor as if the effort to hold it was too great. He was a particular fan of how cute she looked in her beanie, and even went as far as to imagine what she would look like wearing one of his. His treacherous heart fluttered at the notion.

Anger rushed through his veins, almost possessing him. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. He cared too much. He needed some time away from her to get whatever this was out of his system. He couldn’t afford to lose focus on what really mattered; doing well in school, getting a good job and putting Octavia through collage. He should just walk past her and leave, take his dumb trig class and forget he’d ever met her. This frustration, his inability to control what he was feeling, was what ultimately caused him to snap.

“Have a fight with your boyfriend, Princess?” He was slightly taken aback by how harsh his voice sounded, as it if wasn’t even him speaking. Clarke obviously hadn’t been expecting such a hostile tone either as she visibly flinched. There was a painful moment of eye contact and strained silence, during which Bellamy was sure he was going to collapse under her broken gaze. Then, as if a shield had been raised behind her eyes, Clarke was cold once more.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Why, are you jealous?”

“Dream on Clarke,” he scoffed. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Like I even have to,” came the snarky reply.

“What are you scared of Princess?” he smirked, unsure as to why her eyes flashed with fear.

“Gymnastics!” she blurted out, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “I fell and urm, smacked my face on the floor.” He raised an eyebrow, crossing him arms over his chest.

“Oh really,” he couldn’t help but smirk, “when?”

The question hung uncomfortably in the air. He watched her curiously as she gulped heavily, mirrored his stance and jutted her chin out in defiance. It was sort of refreshing to be back to their bickering. Because this was them. Fire and ice. Both too stubborn to back down.

“At practice,” she said, smiling triumphantly.

“Right… except, we’ve walked to every single one of your practices together where I have stayed to watch you. Except last night of course, when you didn’t show and then completely ignored my texts,” he shot back, his voice laced with venomous sarcasm. He was distracted momentarily, however, when Clarke started biting her bottom lip. She removed her hands from where they were crossed under her boobs and began fiddling yet again with the lose cotton of her shirt.

“Bellamy-“ she started, her voice wavering slightly, seemingly catching them both off guard.

“No Clarke,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls, “if you didn’t want to talk to me then you should’ve just said.” His voice was tired now, his shoulders slouched and aching from being constantly tense.

“You know that I do Bell- I just- something came up last night that I couldn’t get out of!”

“Right. But that doesn’t explain the bruise,” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly to her discoloured cheekbone.

“I told you,” her voice was small as she broke his gaze to look back down at her feet. “Gymnastics.” He sighed loudly, rubbing a hand over his face. He was about to protest, knowing that she was lying to him, when he looked up and took in the dark bags under her eyes, the paleness of her skin and the way her bottom lip had begun to tremble.

Taking a few timid steps towards her, he felt his resolve to yell at her dissolve with every stride. By the time he was stood close enough to her that he could hear every strained breath she took, she was shaking like a leaf. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he almost laughed when he saw the familiar glaze of determination shimmering behind a tide of unshed tears. Sliding one hand to cup her face, thumb soothingly brushing the area below the bruise, his entire being relaxed at the feeling of her leaning into his touch. Despite this, she continued to try and stop herself from crying. She drew in a shaky breath, his own breath catching in his throat when she grabbed onto the wrist of the hand cupping her head, like it was a lifeline. Sliding his other hand around her waist, he began to draw circles into the skin beneath her t-shirt like he had five days ago. At this, she sighed and dropped her head forward till her forehead was against his chest.

“Hey.” His gentle voice broke the comfortable silence. Her hands moved to rest on his chest, before balling up the material of his t-shirt in her fists so he couldn’t move away. As if he was ever going to.

“Hey,” came the muffled reply.

After a few seconds of silence, she moved suddenly, standing on her tip-toes and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Grunting a little at the force of her embrace, Bellamy dropped his hands to envelope her waist, drawing her flush against his body. Leaning slightly, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet smell of her vanilla shampoo. After a few minutes, he began dragging his fingertips up and down her back, adjusting himself until he could comfortably rest his chin on her beanie. His eyes were beginning to flutter shut with the serenity when he felt more than heard it. A shudder of her chest which vibrated into his heart and impaled it like a knife. He ceased his ministrations on her back and held his breath just in case he’d imagined it.

But then it happened again, followed by a dampness on his neck which dripped down under his t-shirt. He felt himself unconsciously pull her more securely against him.

His ice princess was crying.

And it hurt like hell.


	11. Kisses and Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE AIUBCHABI  
> Happy Good Friday ppls :)  
> I imagine that the hiatus is a painful as you as it is for me  
> hope you all have a good easter  
> Happy Reading :)

Chapter 11 

With her face buried in his neck and her arms locked around his shoulders, Clarke was incapable of containing the sobs that had been burning at the back of her throat for the past 6 years. Despite being able to cry quietly, Clarke knew that he knew. His grip around her waist tightened and he dropped a brief kiss on the top of her beanie, which only made her sob harder. How undeserving she was of this. Of him.

She lost count of how long they stood there, in the girl’s bathroom, locked in an embrace whilst she wept into his shirt. If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would have laughed at the situation.

When her heaving sobs resided to small hiccups, Clarke reluctantly loosened her hold on him, dropping back flat on her feet and bringing the back of her hands to hastily wipe away her tears. As if that made any difference now. He’d seen her as she saw herself. And that wasn’t a pretty sight. Her walls were down, her wounds were gaping, and her heart was broken. Which was why she couldn’t look at him, afraid she’d see the same look of disgust she saw every time she looked in the mirror. As if, by her simply crying, she’d revealed all her secrets. She knew she was a monster. But she didn’t think she could take it if Bellamy knew it too.

When he withdrew his hands from her hips, leaving her strangely cold, she risked a peek through her eyelashes, barely breathing in suspense. The back of his hand was rising towards her, knuckles facing her. Out of instinct, she tensed up, expecting the inevitable sting on her cheek, only to flinch when his knuckles brushed away her remaining tears with feather light touches. Looking up at him, she inhaled sharply when she took in the empathy there, as if he knew how she felt. As well as that, there was compassion, understanding, and maybe a slight tint of anger. What she didn’t find though, much to her surprise, was disgust.

“You’re not leaving.” Her voice was small, disbelieving and childish, forcing her cheeks to blush pink. He smiled his typically breath-taking smile and let out a small laugh.

“Nah, I don’t scare that easy, Princess.” His voice was low and simultaneously light, making it almost impossible for Clarke to resist a smile.

“That sounds like a challenge,” she grinned, teasingly.

“You sound like a challenge,” he laughed. Clarke’s smile faded slightly and she dropped her gaze to the floor. She felt her shoulders sag with exhaustion as she bent to pick up her bag, moving past him towards the mirrors.

“Yeah,” she sighed, heavily.

There was silence as she methodically began to remove and re-apply her mascara, using concealer to cover up the all-to-revealing bags under her red-rimmed eyes. Only once she’d applied her lip gloss, smacking her lips together before turning around and flashing him one of her best grins, did she break the silence.

“How do I look?” She smiled, flirtatiously, popping out a hip and adjusting her beanie. She didn’t miss the appreciative glance he threw at her, quickly masked by a poker face. He was stood where she left him, arms crossed over his broad chest, drawing her attention to his toned biceps. My God were they a distraction.

“Fine.” His tone was blunt, as if he was gritting his teeth. She pouted.

“What’s your problem?” she snapped.

“What’s yours?” he bit back.

“I don’t have one.” She placed a hand on her jutted out hip, her other hand flying round in gestures, as if to help prove her point.

“Oh really? Then how come you just cried your way through half of my trig class?” His jaw clenched in anger. Hers did the same.

“That’s none of your business and you’re the one that dragged me here in the first place, so don’t pull that shit.”

“None of my business?” His voice rose a few octaves as he threw his hands up in despair. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, yet softer. “Clarke, all I want to know is who did that to you.”

“I did it to me, at gymnastics, like I said!”

“WHY ARE YOU LYING?”

“WHY DO YOU CARE?” She took a step towards him now, anger surging through her.

“WHY WOULDN’T I CARE?” He took a step towards her.

“BECAUSE I’M NOT OCTAVIA!” Another step.

“No, but you’re like her.” They were close enough now that if Clarke was to reach out her hand, she could run her fingers through his hair. She raised an eyebrow.

“Wanna tell me what you mean by that?” she challenged.

“I mean,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “I mean that you’re independent. You’re strong. Even now, when it’s obvious that you’re hurting, you’re still trying to push me away.” At that, Clarke let out a weak laugh, tears pricking her eyes.

“It’s what I do,” she said with a small, sad smile, her voice almost inaudible.

“I know,” he whispered, his gaze flickering between her shimmering eyes and her lips, causing Clarke’s next words to stick in her throat. Luckily, he beat her too it. “Why’d you think I was going to leave?” Clarke bit her bottom lip, tears burning in her eyes and cascading down her cheeks as the ache in her chest swelled. She tore her gaze away from his, staring down at their shoes, only inches apart. Taking his hands in hers, she squeezed them tightly when he did the same. The words came out of her mouth before she even had chance to think over them, as if she was now talking with her heart and not her head.

“B-because everyone always- always leaves,” she hiccupped, silently astounded that she’d spoken the truth to someone she’d only begun to like a couple weeks ago. Holding her breath, she cringed when her confession was met with a tense silence. “I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t- I don’t usually, this isn’t like me I-“ Her excuses were interrupted by firm fingers underneath her chin, forcing her gaze to lock with his heated one.

“Like I said, I don’t scare easy.” His voice was a mere breath over her skin and she closed her eyes, body melting against his as he brought one warm hand to cup her cheek, using the other to pull her hips against his. Eyes fluttering open, Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck, lightly scraping her nails through the soft hairs at the top of his spine, grinning when he shivered.

“If I could tell you, I would, Bell, believe me. But I-“

“You can’t, right?” Clarke watched as the corner of his mouth tugged upwards and had to prevent herself from licking her lips. Instead, she nodded, too lost in his golden eyes to manage a coherent sentence, before dragging her hands around his neck and down across his chest, stopping to grip the material and pull him closer. She frowned when he chuckled, and then pouted when he kissed the frown lines on her forehead away. Sighing contentedly, she leaned in to him when he pulled his lips off her head, before standing on her tiptoes to press a ghost of a kiss to the corner of his mouth that was still turned up. It was her turn to smirk when he groaned, his hand snaking round the small of her back to pull her flush against him. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against hers and it took everything Clarke had to remind herself to keep breathing.

This close to him, it was like she was suspended, teetering on the edge of a drop, off which she so desperately wanted to fall. She committed his face to memory. From the freckles that lightly dusted his cheeks to the dark stubble which, alongside his scruffy hair, gave him an almost dangerous look. Most dangerous to Clarke though, was his lips, slightly parted and glistening from were his tongue had darted out to wet them. His eyes were closed, so she closed her own, gently drawing circles onto his pecs with her thumbs. For several agonising minutes, he made no move to kiss her, and by the way his chest rose and fell against her own so evenly, she began to wonder if he’d nodded off.

“Bellamy,” she whined, tugging at his shirt but still keeping her eyes sealed shut. His laugh was a series of warm breaths that dusted her cheeks and made her stomach muscles tense. She felt the hand that was cupping her cheek adjust until his thumb was dragging along her bottom lip. Bending her head, she pressed a kiss to it, before pushing his forehead with her own. Another minute of unbearable suspense passed, and just as Clarke was about to open her eyes, he spoke in a voice so un-expectedly gentle, she was caught off guard.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Clarke Griffin.” And just like that, his lips were pushing lightly against hers, neither giving nor taking, as if he was testing the waters. Then, as fast as he leaned in, he was pulling back to rest their foreheads together again, leaving her heart racing with need.

“I don’t date,” he whispered eventually. Clarke pulled her head back from his, her eyes shooting open and her eyebrows raising.

“Come again?”

“Shit. That’s not what I meant!” he flushed, stumbling over his words. Clarke supressed a grin. It wasn’t every day you saw ‘King Bellamy Blake’ flustered.

“Then what did you mean?” Her tone was teasing now that she was comforted by his embarrassment.

“I have a reputation.”

“Yes, you do.” She pressed a kiss to his eyebrow, smirking when he cursed softly.

“And- and it’s not a good one.” She pressed a kiss to his other eyebrow.

“No, it isn’t.” Her lips were parted when she ghosted them across his cheek. His nails dug into her back.

“I don’t want people- Jesus, Clarke!” He grunted when she kissed her way down his cheek to suck at his earlobe. “I don’t want people thinking that you’re just another-“ He trailed off, tipping his head back when she began to suck at his pulse point. Giving the spot a lick with her tongue, she pressed feather light kisses up the column of his throat, stopping to hover her lips over his.

“Just another one of your conquests? Then we won’t tell them,” she grinned.

“You can keep a secret like that?” he whispered, his voice strained.

“Do you know anything about my life?”

“Good point,” he grinned back at her, before closing the small gap between them. Having had little experience in the field of boys and kisses, Clarke was unsure whether she’d be any good, or whether she’d know if it was he was good. But the moment he pressed his open mouth to hers, her doubts washed away by him, by his scent, his taste, his touch. Tugging harder on his shirt, eager to get closer to him, Clarke moaned when his tongue traced her lower lip, before parting her lips for him. The hand that had been cupped her face now moved down next to his other hand on her lower back, crushing her to him and allowing her to fall back on flat feet. In response, she traced her hand back up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, locking him to her.

Even when they were making out they were fighting, their tongues battling for dominance, each person trying to make the other groan. After one loudly embarrassing whine had slipped from Clarke, Bellamy had smirked into the kiss, walking her backwards until her back hit the wall. Whilst their making out was hot, Bellamy never made a move to take it any further, and for that, Clarke was grateful but also warmed. It was as if, to him, she was too good to have a quickie with in the bathroom.

It was safe to say, however, that they got lost in each other. Time becoming just another distraction. That was, until, the bell signalling the end of first period rang, startling them out of their kiss. Both panting loudly, they grinned at each other, neither one of them wanting to move away first. Somewhere in the midst of their affections, Clarke’s hands had dropped to just above the waistband of his dark jeans, pulling at his t-shirt. He had also adjusted himself so that one hand was in her hair whilst the other was resting above her head. She was effectively caged in by him… not that she minded in the slightest.

“I should go,” he breathed, making no move to leave.

“Yeah, same,” she said casually, gripping his t-shirt tighter. Shaking his head with another toothy grin, he pulled his hand gently through her hair, twisting a few strands together before laying them on her collarbone. With his fingers, he traced patterns on her skin as he spoke, his smile widening every time her breath hitched.

“Wait for me after school, yeah?” Clarke nodded, too overwhelmed by what had just happened to speak, but she felt herself frown at the prospect of having to spend the rest of the day without him.

“Hey,” his voice was like silk, infinitely soothing, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips, lingering for longer than she thought he had originally intended, before walking away, grabbing his bag from behind the door where he had discarded it when the first entered and leaving her stood there, grinning to herself in the girl’s bathroom.

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By lunch, Clarke was beginning to get frustrated with the way her mind would just drift off in the middle of class to replay that morning’s events in her head. Sitting down at their lunch table with a huff, she all but slammed her tray down, causing her friends to raise their eyebrows in question.

“What’s got you pulled tighter than Raven’s thong?” Jasper joked, earning him a high five from Octavia and a slap over the head from Raven. She’d received endless comments on her choice of underwear ever since she bent over to pick up some guy’s wallet when he dropped it, revealing the top of a lacy red thong to her peers earlier on in the week.

“Very funny,” she grunted, glaring a giggling Monty into silence. If looks could kill, Raven Reyes was sure to be on death row.

“No but seriously Clarke, what’s up?” Octavia asked, once the laughter around the table had died down. After she’d left the Blake’s house later Saturday night, Clarke had text Octavia, inviting her to come hang with her in school. She’d gratefully accepted the offer, joining Clarke at breaks and lunches. Despite being shy at first, she’d really hit it off with the group, especially with Monty and Jasper, and the rest of the group were frequently left out of their scheming. Bellamy had seemed to notice the change in Octavia as well, as he’d told Clarke in one of their many late night phone calls when he thanked her for helping his sister find some real friends. _“She is easily influenced I guess,”_ he’d said, _“gets in with the wrong crowd, like Atom.”_ With her mind inevitably drawn back to Bellamy, Clarke felt herself grow irritated once more.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” When her friends didn’t look convinced, she tried again.

“I just can’t seem to get my head around this… math problem,” she said, relieved when her friends began to nod in understanding and turn their attention back to the conversations they were having before she sat down. Looking around the table, she couldn’t help but smile when she took in all the beaming faces of her friends. Monty, Jasper, and Octavia had their heads pressed close together, giggling about another prank idea no-doubt. Raven and Finn were taking turns to feed forkfuls of pasta to the other, laughing when they missed. Wells had finally gotten the girl of his dreams, Hannah Turner, who seemed nice enough to Clarke, if not a little overly excited all of the time. But Wells was happy, so she was too.

Her phone bleeped in her jean pocket, and she struggled slightly to pull it out, only to smile when she saw who the text was from.

**_Bellamy Blake 1:06pm- Looking a little lonely there Princess ;)_ **

**_Clarke Griffin 1:06pm- Ew quit stalking me, perv! ;)_ **

**_Bellamy Blake 1:08pm- Only for you ;)_ **

**_Clarke Griffin 1:09pm- Don’t get all touchy on me now Blake ;)_ **

**_Bellamy Blake 1:11pm- I think u were the one to get touchy with me Griffin ;)_ **

**_Clarke Griffin 1:13pm- I hate you._ **

**_Bellamy Blake 1:16pm- No you don’t._ **

**_Clarke Griffin 1:20pm- No, I don’t._ **


	12. Hey there, Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOOO  
> ik ik i suck  
> i am the definition of human trash  
> it's been sooooo long  
> but unfortunately, I have exams :((((  
> I will try and post again soon but considering both me and my Beta are drowning in our stupid-ass responsibilities.... no promises  
> this is kinda an Octavia chapter tho so  
> Happy Reading :)

Chapter 12

Curling her top lip up in disgust, Octavia cautiously picked up an abandoned pair of boxers from the bathroom floor as though they were a nuclear bomb. Shuddering, she let out a yelp when she flung them into the washing basket by the door.

“Stupid Bellamy with his stupid boxers,” she muttered menacingly under her breath. For the past two weeks, her brother had been both the happiest and the most stressed that she’d ever seen him. He was almost always with Clarke, which Octavia was thankful for, because after everything he’d been through, Bellamy deserved something good. And Clarke was definitely something good. When the pair weren’t taking impromptu road trips to Disney Land or curling up on the sofa to marathon Marvel movies _(again)_ , Bellamy was working at the bar or had his nose buried in a textbook. To Octavia, he was almost a changed person. Almost. Much to Octavia’s despair, he still left his clothes scattered around the house for her to find.

Mumbling to herself about useless older brothers and the agony of a migraine, Octavia shuffled out of the bathroom, across the hall and into her room. Gathering her comforter, she wrapped it around her shoulders before turning around to shuffle back out the room. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and almost screamed. Waddling over to inspect herself closer, she frowned deeply when she took in the red tip of her nose which stood out against the unusually pale wash of her face. There were bags under her eyes that made her look like a single mom of 3 going through menopause and her hair resembled that of a birds nest.

“Stupid winter and this stupid cold,” she groaned, her throat raw and aching. Tightening her comforter more securely around her shoulders, she made her way down the stairs at a painfully slow pace, stopping every few steps to let out a high-pitched sneeze. Feeling completely sorry for herself, Octavia ambled her way over to her freezer and pulled out the ‘emergency’ tub of Ben and Jerry’s she stashed there, reasoning to herself that this could be the end for her. Of course, as both Bellamy and Jasper had pointed out earlier in the day before Bell had left to see Clarke and Jasper had gone to Monty’s, it was just a common cold. Octavia, however, was absolutely convinced that she had the bubonic plague.

Grabbing a teaspoon off the draining board as an afterthought, she mooched out of the kitchen and into the living room, all but collapsing onto the sofa face first. After taking a well-deserved rest for a couple minutes, she blindly scrambled for the remote with one hand, shouting a muffled “ah-ha!” of triumph into the cushion beneath her head when she found it. With a groan, she forced herself up onto her elbows, Phish Food in one hand, remote in the other. Flipping quickly so she was on her back, she let out a moan as all her muscles protested the movement. Sinking further into the corner of the sofa, she wriggled around until her position was perfect. Grinning to herself like a child, she flicked on the TV and immediately loaded up Netflix, flicking through her favourites list until she reached her ‘go-to sick film’.

“Gotta love The Incredibles,” she croaked to herself, her voice thick with congestion. Peeling off the lid of the ice-cream, she absentmindedly threw it to one side, vibrating with anticipation of the Disney marathon ahead of her. That was, until, the bouncing up and down made her head pound more.

“Yeah, you do,” came a deep voice from the door way. Shrieking, Octavia clutched the Ben and Jerry’s tub tighter to her chest. Snapping her head round to face the intruder, she groaned loudly, bringing a hand up to clutch her head and slamming her eyes shut when the action sent her head reeling.

“If you’re looking for money, I’ll help you look because I can’t seem to fucking find any,” she muttered, more irritated than frightened. Why couldn’t she just watch her all-time favourite movies in peace?

“Urm, sorry, I’m Lincoln? I work with your brother at the Garage… I don’t know if he told you I was coming over or not but I was just bringing these parts he asked for. I fixed them up myself, so could you please tell him they’ll do the job? I’m sorry… again.” With her eyes still shut, Octavia couldn’t help but smile at the legitimate fear in the strange man’s voice. In her mind, she had pictured a lanky boy, similar to Jasper, with the social skills of Monty but probably the brains of Raven. When she opened her eyes however, the sight before her was so delightfully unexpected that she choked on her own breath, sending her into a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” Lincoln asked, concern softening the deep tone of his voice. Pulling the comforter all the way up to her chin, Octavia winced as she remembered what she must look like right now, mentally reminding herself to kick Bellamy’s ass for not telling her that his colleague was A: coming _into the house_ and B: quite possibly the most beautiful human being to ever have existed. With broad shoulders and a tanned complexion which almost mirrored her own, the stranger, Lincoln, was like a walking painting; almost too perfect to be real. Black tattoos crawled down the sides of his neck and disappeared beneath a snug grey T-shirt (which happened to hug his dreamy biceps quite nicely, not that she was looking or anything). He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. And, for once, Octavia Blake was lost for words.

“Ummm… hi.” She cringed, blushing furiously at her own lack of tact. ‘If Monty and Jasper were here now, they’d be pissing themselves,’she thought.

“Hello,” Lincoln laughed out, causing the tips of Octavia’s ears to flush pink. “So… where am I putting these?” Holding up his hands from where they’d been hidden behind the door, he held up a couple of metal devices that meant nothing to Octavia, as if he was waiting for her to inspect them.

“Oh erm, here, I’ll take them!” she exclaimed, hastily scrambling to get out of her cocoon and take the parts from where Lincoln was awkwardly stood, neither in the room nor out of it. Which is easier said than done when you have “the plague”. Overcome with dizziness and an unexpected wave of nausea, Octavia’s valiant attempt to get off the sofa was thwarted by her illness and she ended up sagging back onto the sofa. Clutching her head in her hands, she let out an undignified groan as the room swam around her. Suddenly, two large, cool hands were engulfing her shoulders and miraculously steadying her vision. Fluttering her eyes open, Octavia nearly flinched at the close proximity Lincoln was to her, his face mere inches from her own. Even knelt in front of her, he towered above her, leaving her feeling somewhat insignificant. The unwarranted concern on his face, however, made Octavia feel like the only human being to ever have existed. His eyes seemed to hold the entirety of the universe and his lips looked to be softer than the pillow she was sitting on.

The abrupt sound of him clearing his throat had Octavia thanking whatever Gods may be that she had a tanned complexion to hide her blush as she realised that she’d been staring at said lips for an uncomfortable amount of time. Flicking her eyes up to his, she grinned sheepishly, almost sagging in relief when he returned the smile with a flash of straight white teeth and dimples. Hell, if this guy didn’t stop, she might faint… again.

After another 30 seconds of awkward silence, Octavia seemed to come to her senses. Shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she shrugged her shoulders rather brusquely out of his grasp, swallowing down a rush of guilt at the almost melancholy look on his face. Smiling broadly, she tucked an offending strand of hair behind her ear before motioning to the machine parts that now lay on the floor, discarded carelessly by Lincoln in his rush to get to her. With a frown, Octavia began a second attempt of getting off the couch, only to be interrupted by the replacement of giant hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stay seated. Opening her mouth in protest, Octavia was cut off by the voice that seemed to increase her already high temperature.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, firmly shaking his head.

“But...” she began, brow furrowed in annoyance.

“No buts.” Standing straight, Lincoln crossed his arms like a bouncer at the door of a club. “You’re staying put whilst I go put these in the garage. Then, I’m going to get you some soup.”

“No, really! You don’t have to!” Octavia assured him, taken aback by his impulsive compassion. He let out a deep chuckle that resonated through her bones and set her blood alight, before turning to walk out the room. Pausing momentarily to pick the machine parts up off the floor, he turned to face her once more.

“I’m not doing this because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.” With that, and a small, almost timid smile, he was gone.

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20 minutes of constantly battling to stay awake later, Octavia was gently roused from her slumber by the (bordering on familiar) feeling of a calming hand on her shoulder. Scrunching up her nose, she squeezed her eyelids tightly shut when she felt the sofa vibrate with Lincoln’s soft laughter.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. I made you some tomato soup. It’s my Mom’s recipe- best there is!” Octavia couldn’t help but smile at the thought of this muscular, tattooed mechanic helping his mother cook soup. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she opened her eyes to see him crouched down before her, a bowl of steaming soup between them.

“Something funny?” he said, one dark eyebrow raised. Throwing him a lopsided smirk, Octavia took the bowl from his outstretched hand.

“You called me Beauty,” she grinned, happy that she was no longer acting like a die-hard fangirl around a band member. Taking a mouthful of the soup, she had to bite back a moan as her flu-dampened senses were engulfed by the sharpness of tomatoes mingled with the mellow flavour of basil.

“You know what they say! Honesty is the best policy,” he quipped back, standing once more and stretching his arms above his head. He smiled wickedly when the action caused his t-shirt to rise up, exposing a plane of toned muscle and tanned skin to Octavia at eye level. It was all she could do to keep the spoon from dropping out of her mouth.

“Is there… anything else you need?” It was Lincoln’s turn to smirk now, as Octavia continued to stare shamelessly at his stomach, long after his t-shirt had moved down to cover the ridged muscle.

“What? Oh, no, no. This is quite enough, thank you!” she all but stammered out, silently begging the ground to open up and swallow her whole. So much for not being a fangirl, huh.

“Right. Good. Okay then! I’m gonna… go,” he said hesitantly, his face a little flustered.

“Oh. Okay then. Thanks for everything. You really didn’t have to,” she replied, nodding her head furiously and averting her eyes from his to stare at the soup in her eyes, trying her best not to let her disappointment show.

“Okay. This is me… going,” he joked as he shuffled his way towards the door.

“Of course, I’m sure you have lots to do at the garage.”

“Actually, my next shift is at the fire station.”

“You’re a firefighter?”

“That’s generally why I’m at the fire station.” He was stood by the door now, yet he didn’t leave.

“Well I just thought you might be their chef. You seem to have a knack for it.” She grinned, holding up her already half-empty soup bowl.

“Like I said, mother’s recipe,” he said, returning her wide smile with an equally dazzling one.

“Okay then, well, try not to die!” Though it was meant to come out as sarcasm, she cringed when the actual concern she felt was detectable in her voice.

“I could say the same to you.” And with one last grin, he was out the door. Sinking back into the sofa, Octavia placed the soup bowl on the floor before cradling her head in her hands. Letting out a groan, she pulled a pillow from underneath her and buried her face in it, contemplating at what exact moment she had turned into such an embarrassment. That was, until, the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway had her frozen in place.

“Sorry, I know I was going but I was just wondering,” Lincoln starts, looking a little nervous, “I volunteer at this kids centre on Sundays. Just helping run few activities here and there but, the kids are angels. Really. They come from all over the city, with different backgrounds and problems but… the Arc gives them somewhere to go. Somewhere to go to be who they are with people who genuinely care. That’s why I’m there. But I have a hunch, and correct me if I’m wrong, that a woman who still watches Disney when she’s sick has a heart just as big- if not bigger- than mine. So, if you’re free, I was wondering if you’d, I don’t know… maybe tag along with me this Sunday?” Having uncovered her face part way into the speech, Octavia was aware that she was sat, grinning like an idiot at a man she’d met looking her worst merely half an hour ago, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Her heart swelled at the hopeful look on his face and she had to literally restrain herself from getting up and hugging him when he began to fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Gimme your phone,” she deadpanned. To see such a strong man practically tremble before her did wonders for her ego and so, shoot her, she wanted to stretch it out a little longer! When he hesitantly reached in his back pocket, pulling out his phone and gently throwing it at her, she failed to stifle a giggle at the puzzled look on his face. Keying in her number and saving her name as “Sleeping Beauty”, she chucked the phone back at him.

“Text me at least 1 hour before you come to pick me up? I’d like to be ready this time,” she said, sarcasm evident in her voice.

“I don’t know… you kind of look adorable like this.” With a sweeping look over her, Lincoln left for the second time, softly shutting the door behind him.

“Of course he saves lives AND volunteers to help kids,” she muttered to herself. Suppressing a shriek, she cursed allowed when the door swung open again.

“Dammit, Lincoln! You scared the crap out of me!”

“OHHHHHHHHHH MY GAWWWD. WHO. IS. LINCOLN. Reyes, are you hearing this??” Octavia did shriek when Jasper’s head popped round the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of knocking?” she scowled, picking up her soup bowl to finish it.

“Nice to see you too,” Jasper drawled as he ambled into the room, followed by an ever quiet Monty and the sound of Raven shouting Spanish profanities at someone down the phone all the way from the kitchen.

“We come bearing gifts,” Monty smiled sympathetically at her, dropping lightly next to her on the sofa before opening his backpack to reveal half-a-dozen Disney movies and at least 7 bags of sweets.

“Awh, ma boys!” Octavia beamed, her chest swelling with love at the knowledge that now she had people besides her brother who actually cared about her wellbeing.

“Okay then my peoples, who’s ready to MULAN!” Raven shouted, sliding into the room before posing like a ninja in front of the sofa where Octavia and Monty were busy getting comfy. Laughing at her antics, the 3 friends chorused a loud ‘yes’ before accommodating themselves comfortably on the sofa, Jasper pressing play on the movie and Monty already moving to open the strawberry laces. Taking a glance around her friends, Octavia smiled to herself as her eyes swam with joyful tears. With her head resting on Monty’s shoulder, sandwiched between him and Raven, Jaspers head resting on her knees from where he lay across them all, Octavia finally knew what it felt like to belong somewhere.

It was like this, that Clarke and Bellamy found their friends several hours later, each propping another up as they slept. After draping blankets carefully over each of them, Clarke smiled to herself when she turned off the TV. DVD cases littered the floor, along with sweets wrappers and empty coke cans. When Bellamy wrapped her small figure up in his arms, pulling her back to his chest and pressing a tender kiss to the spot just behind her ear, Clarke closed her eyes blissfully, before letting herself be led out the room and up the stairs, into the safety of Bellamy’s arms.


	13. Don't shoot the messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooo hey guys  
> long time no fic I guess  
> big thanks to anyone who's still with me here, ily  
> I know this chapter isn't much but it's been a pain in my arse for 3 months so hopefully now I can write more often  
> Happy Reading :)

 

Chapter 13

Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Bellamy bent double, letting his arms drop to his knees as if to stop himself from toppling face first onto the hard floor of the school gym hall. Shaking his head slightly to clear his fringe from where it had dropped into his line-of-sight he cast a look around his team members, who seemed to be in various stages of “absolutely fucking done”.

With a swell of pride, Bellamy took in their red faces and heaving chests, confident that they were ready for the first of their eighteen League Games, set to take place four days from now. After that game, there was Christmas break, with the remaining seventeen games steadily spread out from the beginning of January until mid- March, giving him ample time to spend with Clarke.

Unable to stop a smile from creeping onto his face, Bellamy felt excitement bubble in his throat in anticipation of the coming fortnight. If all went to plan he would play (and win) the game in four days’ time, giving the boys a raring start to the season. Then, two days later, he would go and support his girlfriend at Nationals. Another two days later was Christmas day, which meant a home-cooked meal with O and his mum that were so few and far between these days that he’d been looking forward to it since Halloween.

He also couldn’t wait to give Clarke her Christmas present which he’d spent 3 hours being dragged around the mall by Octavia trying to find. The time between Christmas and New Year would be free for him to allocate some much needed drinking time with his friends, before it was back to school, to lacrosse, to work and all the 1000 other responsibilities he had. With that in mind, Bellamy was more determined than ever to make the most of his time off. Starting with the curvy figure with the halo-like hair who had just walked into the gym, immediately catching his eye.

“Hey, stranger,” her voice called out, soft, sultry and completely distracting. Smiling, Bellamy straightened himself up as she approached him. As soon as she was within reaching distance, he laced his arms around her waist, sending her careering into him, hands squarely on his chest to balance herself.

“Hey, you,” he replied, before leaning down to capture her lips in a fleeting kiss. His heart fluttered when she sighed as he pulled away within seconds of their lips touching.

In the past couple weeks of them being together, Bellamy had learned a lot about Clarke, but one of his favourite things to do was to tease her. To give her a taste of something, before withdrawing and leaving her deprived. She always gave him the best reaction. A pleading moan, a wistful sigh, and even sometimes a whisper of his name. Whatever it was, wherever they were, Clarke wouldn’t disappoint. Not even in the middle of lacrosse practice when surrounded by the obnoxious team she loathed so much. It had come to Bellamy’s attention, however, that Clarke would make more of an effort to tolerate his teammates than usual. The thought of her doing that for him made his body feel lighter, like slowly she was peeling the troubles off his back and was discarding them carelessly into oblivion.

Whilst Clarke might have been making more of an effort, his teammates/friends were more than eager to make any meeting between himself and Clarke an awkward or embarrassing occasion. So far he had endured the telling of regretful dares he had accomplished, bones he had broken and even girls he had hooked up with. If there was anything he had learned whilst standing rigid next to his girlfriend, a grimace on his face as he listened to her share laughter with the team over his most recent failure, it was that true friends missed nothing. They were there for you when you needed them to be, and they were there for you when you wished they weren’t. And as of now, Bellamy seriously wished they weren’t.

“Get a room!”

“Easy tiger!”

“This is lacrosse, not tonsil tennis!”

Came familiar calls from the sweaty figures strewn around them, along with a serious of catcalls and raucous “meows”. Bellamy couldn’t help but laugh when Clarke dropped her face to his chest in humiliation, cheeks flushed pink thanks to the unwanted attention.

“I was just on my way to the library and I thought I’d drop in to see if we were still on for tonight?” she asked, her voice heart-warmingly hopeful.

“Sure.” Unable to resist, Bellamy planted another kiss on her lips, valiantly attempting to block out the jibes thrown at him by his friends in the process.

Sighing once more, Bellamy watched as Clarke’s eyes fluttered open like butterfly wings, before she said, “My place, 7:30?”

“I’ll be there,” he grinned.

“You better be,” she grinned back, before detangling herself from his grasp and bouncing away from him, wiggling her hips accentually in order to catch his attention and drive him crazy. Whilst Bellamy knew this sweet torture was probably part of a Clarke Griffin scheme, he was happy to suffer for as long as he could admire the view.

 

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“Bellamy! Bellamy, wait up!” A voice rang out from the bustling crowd of robotic students, moving like clockwork between classes. Hearing his name, Bellamy nodded a farewell to his friends, before shoving his way through the crowd to a water fountain that stuck out the dirty white wall of the corridor. From his new vantage point, he proceeded to hunt down the caller of his name. Seconds into his search, Bellamy’s view was suddenly blocked by the appearance of a young boy in a striped t-shirt and bold, rectangular glasses. By the way his backpack rested between his shoulder blades and the considerate height difference between them, Bell concluded that he must be a freshman. A nerdy one at that.

“Bellamy Blake?” the boy queried in a tone that suggested he cared little for the fact that Bellamy was both older and taller than he was.

“Freshman,” Bellamy deadpanned in reply.

“Coach has a message for you.”

“Fire away.”

“The game has been postponed.”

Bellamy frowned. “So it’s not tomorrow?”

The freshman rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sighed dramatically. “That’s the idea,” he quipped. “It’s now on the 23rd of this month, so write that down or something.” Without waiting for a reply, the freshman turned to join the torrent of students. Obviously the conversation had reached an end for him. Bellamy felt differently.

Grabbing the boys arm, he dragged him none too gently back so they were once again stood face to face. At this display of strength, gone was the dismissive attitude of the freshman, replaced with a look more generally directed at seniors like Bellamy- a look of awe and fear.

“Sorry.” Bellamy shook his head, removing his hand from where it was grasping the boy’s ironed shirt. “It’s just, that can’t be right.” To this, the boy merely shrugged.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said, before making a second, more successful attempt at escape. Leaning back against the grimy wall, Bellamy put his head in his hands, watching as people streamed past him, various snippets of their conversations floating to his ears.

“Fuck,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wouldn't normally do this but my dad's a wanker and he disabled my tumblr account so feel free to follow my new one, URL: darlingmaywemeetagain  
> you're all stars xoxox


	14. This one's for you (Lincoln)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so first off I'd like to say I am like starstruck over the fact that this fic came second on somebody's blog for best Bellarke High School AU fic which I am probably too happy about but whatever  
> thanks so much for reading anyhow!  
> also it's my birthday on Thursday and i'm super excited lmao  
> pls don't hate me for the lack of bellarke but somebody requested a scene similar to this and I kinda ran with it and it fits with my overall story so here we are  
> mentions of domestic abuse so take care my loves  
> Happy Reading :)

Chapter 14

Stealthily, she trudged through the calf-deep snow, both her eyes and ears on full alert. Flake after flake danced out of the sky in a mesmerising frenzy that, on a normal day, would’ve captured her full attention within seconds. But today was no normal day.

Blinking the settling ice crystals off of her eyelashes, the brunette remained in a crouched position as she turned a slow 360 degree circle. Seeing nothing, she motioned silently with a mittened hand to the troops who took cover behind their temporary base- aka: the club house. In single file, they approached her position, arms held out in front of them, weapons poised. Hearing a giggle drift out from the blanket of snow surrounding them, the leader gestured to her troops to halt, holding her finger to her lips in a universal sign of silence as she strained to hear another sound.

She was not to be disappointed. Suddenly, rising out of the ground in front of the swing set came a roar of challenge as small figures leapt out of the snow. Before the brunette could even sound the retreat, the enemy was firing at their front line, receiving shrieks of surprise for their efforts. Rapidly trying to assess the situation, the leader scanned her surroundings frantically in desperate need of cover. By the time she saw it, it was too late.

The first snowball took her in the left shoulder, the second in her abdomen, the impact lessened by the thickness of her multiple layers. Looking up, she honed in on a figure considerably larger than the remainder of the enemy (who were now receiving a counter attack). Even with his scarf covering the lower half of his face, the brunette knew who she was dealing with. Scrunching up her eyes, she bent to grab a handful of the white powder, smacking it into a rough spherical shape. In the time it took her to craft her weapon, she was struck again, the force of the snowball almost knocking the beanie off her head. Smirking to herself, she drew back her arm and aimed with accuracy that only comes with years upon years of one on one battles with one’s brother.

“You’re so going down,” she muttered to herself, “this one’s for you Lincoln.”

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Despite being a volunteer who was meant to act as a role model to the children who visited The Ark Children’s Activity Centre, Octavia herself lead the victory chants for the girl’s team as they made their way back through the playground/battle field to the activity centre. The boys, suitably chastened after they boasted (pre-battle) about being undefeatable, hung their heads in shame. Only Lincoln seemed happy with the outcome. Or maybe the smile he had plastered across his face had more to do with how Octavia looked with a little red nose visible between her knitted bobble hat and her matching scarf. As soon as they got back to the building however, the leader of the girls group let the chants die down in favour of reminding everybody to trade their wellies for their indoor pumps, to make sure their coats were hung up and to meet herself and Lincoln back on the carpet (where they held most of their activities) in 5 minutes for hot coco.

Both volunteers stood like guards on either side of the back entrance to the activity centre as they ushered the children in. Each “thank you” or “that was so much fun” Octavia heard made her heart grow just that much bigger.

Ever since Lincoln had first brought her along to the Kids Centre, just a couple blocks from her house, she’d fallen in love with every single member. More importantly, to her delight, they had fallen in love with her. Getting to know each child individually, Lincoln had told her on her second visit, was vital. Octavia had also learnt that it was something of a blessing. Every single one of these children- all ranging between the ages of 6 and 14 had experienced some sort of tragedy or hardship in their short lives. Not unlike Octavia. It was because of this, she thought, that she could connect with them so easily. Grinning up at Lincoln as the last child bounced past, she allowed his firm hands to guide her inside, closing the door behind her.

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Watching in adoration, Octavia grinned into her steaming mug of coco at the scene of Lincoln – the bear sized mechanic – reading a story to 40 children who sat motionless in the space in front of him, only ever making a sound when they laughed as Lincoln adjusted his voice to a certain character or acted out a line with his hands.

With every word he spoke, Octavia felt herself slowly falling for the sensitive guy who didn’t seem to be afraid to put on, what can only be described as a horrific attempt at a Scottish accent, just to see these kids smile. Because that’s how much he cared. Sat near the back of the room on a plush red couch, Octavia was more than happy to observe the way his muscles flexed when he raised his hand in a mocking wave, or map the wrinkles in his forehead with her eyes when he was forced to pronounce a difficult word. She had berated herself several times for her total lack of control over her feelings towards Lincoln. After all, they hadn’t even kissed! Regardless, Octavia was in a state of bliss. Her life had never, to her knowledge, been so good. Her brother was happy with his new girlfriend, she was now a volunteer at a Kids Centre where she could actually make a difference to someone’s life and maybe give them a chance she was never offered, she finally had a group of friends she could completely rely on and, on top of all that, she seemed to be falling head over heels for Gods very own gift to humanity.

As if he had read her mind, Lincoln chose that moment to look up from ‘The Dolphin Song’, meeting her gaze with his soft hazel eyes and heating her blood to an uncomfortable temperature. His voice didn’t break as he continued to read, nor did their eye contact. Blushing under his intense stare, she was the first to look away, but not before she saw him smirk in triumph. Where her own gaze landed, swept Lincoln from her mind.

Curled up in a narrow space between two tall book cases, sat a small, blonde haired girl. In her hands, she held an open book, much thicker than the almost childish one Lincoln was reading to the rest of the group. At a closer look, Octavia realised she was halfway through ‘InkHeart’, the first of three books she only knew from the bookcase in Bellamy’s room. Raising her eyebrows in silent admiration, Octavia noted that the girl couldn’t have been any older than 12. Her eyebrows lowered once more as she realised that she didn’t know this girl. Her gut sank with horror. What if she’d completely blanked this girl? How could she not recognise her by now? This was at least her 6th visit! Glancing back to where Lincoln and his enthusiasts were still encased in their story, Octavia made a decision.

Setting her now lukewarm drink onto a near-by coffee table, she made her way over to where the mystery girl was still engrossed in her book. Making eye contact once more with Lincoln, she nodded her head to signal that everything was okay, before continuing towards her destination.

The girl didn’t look up as she approached, merely raised an eyebrow when the volunteer sat crossed legged in front of her, almost caging her in to the confined space she’d chosen to hide.

“Hi!” Octavia sang, cheerfully. To this, the girl looked up at her through long, fair eyelashes, her features seemingly unimpressed by the sociable gesture.

“I kinda like to be alone,” she said finally, after a long pause. Her voice carried a weight too heavy for someone so young. When the volunteer didn’t move, the girl simply shrugged and returned her gaze to her book. Octavia was left baffled, and also a little bit offended. Never one to be swayed however, she tried again.

“My brother adores that book! He’s read it so many times the spine is creased and pealing.”

“It’s a good book,” the girl simply replied, without taking her eyes off the pages. Then, she licked her thumb before rubbing the bottom right-hand-corner of the page and turning it, the friction of paper on paper making an oddly calming sound. Needing something to have to fiddle with in her hands, Octavia searched the book shelves that stood solid either side of her for something of interest. When her gaze came across an old, beige book embroidered with pink flowers that encased it like ivy, she knew she’d found the right object.

“Do you read a lot?” Octavia tried again, adamant that she would get some answers. But there was something else that drove her curiosity. A certain familiarity to this girl that she just couldn’t place. And the freckle. The freckle above her top lip. She’d seen that before! Trying to place this connection was like staring at clouds, they looked close enough to touch but in reality, they were thousands of miles away.

“Yes. Do you?” The girl still hadn’t looked up, but at least the question was something.

“Not really. My brother, he got really into it after… after my dad died.” At this news, the girls head shot up, her startling blue eyes seeking Octavia’s muted brown ones. Octavia took this as an indication to continue. “But I just got bored too quickly. I would annoy my brother for hours on end whilst he was reading, until he’d come and play with me. Eventually, he always would. And he’d always let me pick the game.”

Unconsciously, she’d began to run her hands along the front of the book she had picked off the shelves. Tracing the single word embroidered in a harsh black across the front cover, she smiled fondly at the memory.

“Although, if I’d had a nightmare, my brother would insist on reading me this story. He said it reminded him of me. The main character in it,” she paused to see if she still had the girl’s attention. Seeing that she did, she continued, “is a little girl, who’s full of questions about the world. I miss that. I miss having him read me stories. I always thought, as a kid, that whenever I called out for my brother in the middle of the night, he’d come for me. And he always did…”

“Until he didn’t,” the girl stated, matter-of-factly, as if she had perfect knowledge of this situation. Looking back up from the cover of the book to the girl before her, Octavia managed a weak smile.

“Until he didn’t,” she repeated. To this, the girl sighed, shutting her book with a soft bang, before hugging it to her chest.

“My sister, she’s like your brother, I think. Ever since…” The girl paused and swallowed thickly, her shoulders hunched in a way that made Octavia wonder if she was afraid. Her concern became real when the girl shifted the book tightly in her grasp, before leaning forward towards Octavia. “Can you promise me something? Because I’m not allowed to tell but, it’s making me sad and I don’t want to be sad anymore, I want to be like them.” She gestured loosely to the kids still enchanted by Lincoln’s voice. “Promise me you won’t tell.”

Reaching out a hand, the older girl simply covered the blonde’s pale hand, “I promise.” Seemingly satisfied, the girl took a deep breath and continued.

“My dad… he died in a car crash six years ago. My mum, she jumped into a bottle and a guy who she was married to before the 1st anniversary of dad’s death.” Her tone was laced with disgust, but her eyes betrayed her sadness as they misted over. “My sister, she’s always been there for me. She basically my mum! Accept she’s more than that.” Biting worriedly at her bottom lip, the girl peered over Octavia’s shoulders, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. Lowering her voice again until Octavia was forced to lean forward in order to hear her, she continued her confession with a sentence that left chills up Octavia’s spine.

“He beats her. And she lets him. For me. Because if she didn’t, he would come for me.” Both the girls had lumps rising in their throats as the words lingered in the air between them, the realisation of what was being said hitting them both with brutal force. Octavia was powerless to do anything but stare at this girl in complete agony. It was one thing to lose a parent, she knew, but another to have a responsibility such as this secret upon her shoulders. Watching as the young girls’ slim frame began to shake with unrestrainable sobs, Octavia sprung forward, wrapping her arms around the girl, tucking her long blonde her under her chin.

“You haven’t told anyone.” It was a question posed as a statement in fear she already knew the answer. Those fears were confirmed when she felt the girl shake her head.

“You need to,” Octavia urged gently, not wanting to see the girl suffer anymore. At the suggestion however, the girl pushed herself out of Octavia’s arms, a look of alarm on her face. “Mum said that I mustn’t say anything or they’ll take me away!”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Octavia reasoned, but before she’d even finished the sentence, the girl was shaking her head vehemently.

“She wasn’t talking about them taking me away from her! She means my sister. They’ll take me away from my sister and that can never happen because we’re all we’ve got!” The girl sobbed, wrenching at Octavia’s heart with the force of an Artic wind.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, guiding the girl back into her arms. “And your sister… has she told anybody?” Once more she felt the girl shake her head.

“N-no. She can’t. He-he said if she did then he-he would hurt me,” she hiccupped. Octavia’s heart went out to whoever this girl was. She wondered briefly if she’d ever met her, before she was interrupted by a muffled voice.

“Can I tell you another secret?”

Gulping, Octavia nodded, realised that the girl couldn’t see her with her head buried in her jumper and squeezed out a “yes” from her rapidly burning throat.

When the girl replied, her voice was small. Not quiet. Just… small. “I’m afraid. I’m so afraid that he’s going to kill her.”

There was a silence between the two girls, occasionally interrupted by Lincoln in the background. But the adventures of ‘The Dolphin Song’ seemed worlds away now. Tears coursing freely down her cheeks before dropping onto the head of the grief-stricken girl she was cradling in her arms, Octavia wracked her brains for something to say, but kept coming up empty handed. That was until, another voice broke the silence, making her jump slightly.

“Heidi,” came the voice from her bosom.

“What?”

“Heidi. The name of the book. It’s called Heidi,” the girl said as she finally pulled away from Octavia, the only sign that she’d been crying a slight redness around her eyes. Looking down, Octavia saw that the girl taken the book from where it had rested on her legs and was now flipping to a random page. As she read, Octavia was reminded of the reason she came over in the first place. Given what had just happened, she felt proper introductions were definitely in order.

“I’m Octavia by the way, Octavia Blake. What’s your name?”

The girl looked up, her eyes glistening like puddles in the fast fading light of winter that seeped through the nearby window.

“I’m Ivy. Ivy Griffin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> URL: darlingmaywemeetagain xoxo


	15. The price you pay for love (and a medal)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess what  
> I ACTUALLY DID WELL IN MY GCSE'S!!!!  
> Onwards and upwards it is for me, my friends  
> But not for you guys  
> Because you're not gonna like me much after this  
> just a quick thing urm, I know likkeee nothing about gymnastics????? so lol  
> Happy reading :)

Chapter 15

Shifting from foot to foot irritably, Clarke scanned the endless sea of faces which looked onto the performance arena with anticipation, making a futile attempt to spot a familiar face. She was standing at the mouth of the tunnel which lead from the contestants’ dressing rooms to the heart of the stadium, where they would perform in front of five very experienced judges. From her position, Clarke glanced briefly towards the judges’ table that was stationed on the far side of the arena, in a position that ensured all of them had a full view of each station. Anxiously, she took in their blank expressions and the notepads that they scribbled ominous notes into.

Currently, a lanky girl from Louisiana was occupying their attention with what Clarke could only describe as a maddening routine of rapid spins and sudden stops on the high bars. Whilst marvelling at the girl for her amazing strength and stamina, Clarke silently thanked the Gymnastic deities above for making Clarke more suitable for floor routines and not the high bars. Eyeing the judges once more after a flawless dismount (via a triple back-flip) finished the girls’ routine, Clarke saw no change in the five faces which looked on indifferently. Her stomach churned. The crowd, however, was enthusiastic enough for the entirety of North America. As soon as the performer’s heels touched the mat, there was a standing ovation. Cheers, whistles, and screams ricocheted around the bowl like stadium, hitting the dome roof before being drowned out by the stamps of feet and the many snaps of clapping hands. As the noises faded away, a male voice rang out over the speakers, declaring the girl to be “Carey Hudson, aged 21”. Clarke, upon hearing the commentator begin his calling of Carey’s scores from the judges, turned away from the scene, before walking briskly back into the tunnel, the sounds of the crowd diminishing slightly with every step she took.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

She needed to do this

For her dad.

For Ivy.

Casting an anxious glance behind her, she grimaced. Once upon a time, she would’ve walked out of that tunnel, head held high as if everyone in the stands was beneath her. But that was when she had no-one. Now, she had someone, and as she looked back, she realised that she couldn’t walk out of that tunnel without knowing he was close. Sighing deeply, Clarke wondered when she had become so mushy. As she reached her dressing room, she had resigned herself to the fact that she already knew the answer to that question.

The day she became acquainted with the real Bellamy Blake.

Pushing open a pale wooden door which had a piece of laminated paper attached to it, stating her name, age, and group, Clarke made a bee-line for her dressing table. She picked up her phone just as the automatic door clicked softly shut behind her, cutting off the fading sounds of the animated crowd as they welcomed the next contestant and leaving her in silence. Crossing her fingers, Clarke muttered a wistful ‘please’, before clicking the button on the side of her phone that brought her face to face with her lock screen (a picture of Bellamy kissing her on the cheek at Disney World whilst they both donned matching Mikey Mouse ears). But no messages. Cursing softly, Clarke all but slammed the phone back down onto the table. Glancing at the clock which hung above the door, she began tapping her foot impatiently, the nervous bubbles inside of her threatening to spill out. She was due to perform her floor routine in exactly 19 minutes.

“Come on Bell,” she whispered into the isolated air of the room.

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Tapping his foot impatiently against the accelerator pedal, Bellamy glanced at the bright green numbers on the dashboard which told him that Clarke would be performing in, like, 20 minutes. Slamming the heel of his hand into the centre of the steering wheel, he hung his head out the window and, just as the blare of the horn softened, shouted up to the house.

“Come on, guys!”

“OKAY OKAY! Jeez, Bellamy, we’re gonna make it.” Wells smiled breezily as he jogged down the path to the car joyously. Behind him, Bellamy could make out the less enthusiastic shuffles of Monty and Jasper, whilst Raven and the most irritating guy (in Bellamy’s opinion) that ever walked the Earth followed behind.

“Right so some of you are gonna have to go in Miller’s car again,” Bellamy said gruffly to the gang of teenagers that shifted from foot to foot under the blaring lights of the street lamps, their breaths visible in front of them thanks to the winter chill in the air.  Monty seemed to brighten up at the suggestion, and had even gone to move towards the car that was parked behind Bellamy’s, before Wells laid a hand on his arm.

“Maybe Raven and Finn should go this time?” he suggested, casting a meaningful looked towards the dark haired man who was sat tensely in the driver’s seat. Bellamy returned the look with one of gratitude. Wells seemed to share his dislike of all things Finn. Having both just suffered a car ride of his persistent preaching about the peace corps, about how he was a vegan, and his shaming of them for their love of meat, neither Bellamy nor Wells was eager to be in his company again anytime soon. It had been on the tip of Bellamy’s tongue to (in no certain words) tell him to stick his pompous opinions right up his arse, but knowing that he was a friend of Clarkes, kept the peace.

Monty’s shoulder’s slouched slightly with disappointment, but he nodded wordlessly, now changing his direction to slide into the back seat of Bellamy’s (now fixed) car. Jasper followed suit, whilst Wells ran around the front of the running car to get into the passenger’s seat, throwing a cheerful “see you there” over his shoulder at Raven and Finn, who had begun to trundle towards Miller’s car where another friend and colleague of Bellamy’s sat in the passenger seat. His sand coloured hair was swept off at the front to one side and looked soft to touch. His startling blue eyes stood out against the tan of his skin and he wore the standard Grounders uniform of black jeans and a black t-shirt. The latter item of clothing seemed to pull tight across his broad shoulders and well-toned arms, and his full mouth was turned up at the sides in a grin as he watched Finn and Raven approach the car. The nametag he wore on his left breast read Kyle Wick. The twinkle he had in his eye read Bad Boy. Raven couldn’t help but let her gaze wonder as she clambered into the backseat next to Finn, who immediately reached for her hand. Glancing at him, she returned his reassuring smile with a thin one, before turning to look out the window instead.

In the first car, Bellamy was becoming more and more impatient with the sloth-like-pace of Jasper as he walked to the car, opened the door to the backseat, climbed into the seat and shut the door behind him. By the time he had his seatbelt on the designated driver was all but ready to explode. Originally, the group (who had been to support Bellamy and Miller at lacrosse) were supposed to go immediately from the playing field to the stadium where Clarke was due to perform any minute. However, much to Bellamy’s frustration, they had all called for a bathroom break, so the boys pulled into the Blake’s house to use the facilities.

Finally, however, they were good to go, and Bellamy wasted no time speeding off at a pace that was probably twice the legal limit. Miller followed behind, a lot more precautious. Wells couldn’t help but notice that Monty spent more of his time looking behind him than he did in front.

For every traffic light that shone red or driver that braked unnecessarily, Bellamy felt himself becoming more and more infuriated.  With only a 34 minutes turn around period, he’d had little time after the game to talk among teammates or even change clothes - hence why he was still wearing his red lacrosse jersey and grey gym shorts. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had any time to have a wash either, and he was distinctly aware of the faint smell of BO that lingered in the air around him. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror told him that his face-paint (two black lines cutting diagonally downwards from his nose to his ear either side of his face) was still fairly intact, which couldn’t be said for his hair that had been tousled when he all but ripped off his helmet. He knew for a fact that his legs were covered in streaks of mud and his trainers were no doubt in a similar condition. He had, however, had chance to remove his shin pads, and he relished in the feeling of cool air on his overheated skin.

Eight minutes after their rest stop, the group had finally made it to stadium. Bellamy and Miller pulled up outside the entrance so that their passengers could get out and run inside while they found a parking spot - which was easier said than done when half of America seemed to have shown up. Four minutes later, Miller joined Bellamy on his jog towards the stadium from where they’d had to park at the very far side of the overflow field. Even though it was barely 5:30pm, the winter sun was already setting behind the skyline, casting watery yellows and oranges into the blizzard like clouds. The two boys moved easily over the snow coated ground in silence, taking the steps that lead up towards the double doors two at a time and in unison. As they reached the top, Miller spoke softly.

“That Finn ain’t half something,” he smiled wryly. “I mean, I get that everyone has their own way of life and all but, he was heading for a swift head-butting.” To this, Bellamy let out a snort, but continued to lead the way, following the twists and turns of the corridor, guided both by signs on the walls and the rumble of applause that grew louder with every step. As they rounded yet another bend, Miller continued.

“I was saying to Wick that I was thinking about inviting Monty over for Sunday dinner, you know, the rack of lamb mum cooks every Sunday. I mean I know it’s nothing special but I thought that maybe he’d like it, you know?” Bellamy nodded, a wolfish grin plastered on his face as he watched his long time best friend blush self-consciously. “Any way, then butts in the 13th disciple, giving me a lecture on eating lamb and how he doesn’t see what a guy like Monty would see in a guy like me if I was happy to munch on innocent animals!” Gone was the cute blush now, replaced by an angry flush as he frowned over the memory. “What a dick.” Miller muttered after a moment’s silence. Before Bellamy could respond, they came to a stop before a large red double door. The sound of the audience was louder than ever and, just as Bellamy reached for the handle, the tannoy slightly muffled by the walls between them, informed the crowd that the next candidate was Clarke Griffin, age 16 and that she would be performing a floor routine. The two friends shared a glance, before charging through the door and into the stands.

They had come out less than halfway up the bowl shaped bleachers, directly behind where the judges table was situated. Whilst Bellamy kept his eyes glued to the mouth of the tunnel at the other side of the stadium (which felt like a continent away from him) Miller scanned the area for the rest of their friends. Grabbing Bellamy’s arm, he all but dragged him to where he’d seen Raven’s familiar red bomber jacket standing beside the equally familiar sandy mop of hair that belonged to Wick, some five aisles away from them. As they squeezed through the masses of people - some stood up, others seated - the boy’s apologies were lost in the excited noises of the crowd as a small blonde appeared at the mouth of the tunnel dressed in an ice blue leotard (which had Bellamy choking on his own breath).

Upon reaching the rest of their friends, Bellamy had a much clearer view of the performance area. He watched anxiously as Clarke shared a brief word with her coach, before taking a quick glance at where the judges sat like predators, silently observing their prey. Seeing her scan the crowd desperately, he saw her shoulders sag in defeat at the lack of apparent familiar faces. Head bowed, she made her way towards the large matted area, her blonde hair catching the blaring lights at an angle which made it appear as though she had a halo. Rolling from the balls of his feet to his heels in a constant motion, Bellamy struggled to keep still in anticipation. Even though she was so far away from him he could barely see the adorable features of her face, he felt her uneasiness in the depths of his stomach and it set him on edge.

Absentmindedly he wondered if this was the price you paid for love. You felt their happiness, their pride, their elation. You felt their laugh in your bones and the twinkle in their eyes when they smiled was burned onto your heart for eternity. But you also felt their suffering. Any pain they endure hits you twice as hard. Their hatred is your hatred. You can feel their anger in your blood and when they cry, their tears take tiny parts of your soul from you that you will never get back.

Not that Bellamy loved Clarke. That was completely over the top and way into the future. Plus, he had Octavia to look after! He couldn’t do that if he was in love! Obviously.

That still didn’t stop his breath catching in his throat when she bowed to the judges and then to the, now silent, crowd, before the music started playing, taking her with it.

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Heart hammering inside her chest, Clarke felt herself holding her breath as she bowed to the judges, and then to the overwhelmingly large audience. She could feel herself shaking, but seemed powerless to stop it. Shuffling into position, she mentally checked that her feet were pointed, that her chin was up and that her arms were extended, before holding herself completely still in anticipation of the music beginning. Using the few precious seconds she had left before her sequence began to prepare herself, Clarke allowed her mind to wander away from the stadium. She thought of her dad reminding her over and over again to bend her knees when landing a round-off so that she wouldn’t stumble backwards. Images of countless summer days in the garden trying to teach Ivy how to hold a handstand clouded her mind. She was overcome with feelings of elation as she remembered how she felt the first time she successfully completed a standing somersault. It was then that she heard the first few bars of “The Nutcracker” begin, and she was swept away completely.

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Bellamy had long since been slightly obsessed with watching Clarke perform. Even back when they were enemies, there were days when he’d stay late after lacrosse just to watch her defy gravity in a compelling story of jumps and spins. Since they’d started dating, he had pretty much attended every single one of her practice sessions. He knew her routine for Nationals off by heart. And yet, here he was, stood in awe of this petite girl who moved with terrifying confidence. Every movement of her arms seemed to stem from the centre of her spine, rippling out across her shoulders and surging to the tips of her fingers. Every step she took was in perfect time with the music. She seemed to flip in accordance with every crescendo, as if the music was narrating her performance. One sweeping look at the judges table told Bellamy that he wasn’t the only one enjoying it. Pens were being tapped upon the table in time with nods of their heads. Smiling to himself, Bellamy let out a huff of air that was almost a laugh. Only his Clarke could bring a bit of joy to those sour faced statues.

All too soon, the music, and Clarke, stopped. There was a moment, no longer than ten seconds, of complete silence. And then there was an explosion of sound. Whistles, screams, chants, claps, crashes and, stomps rose steadily in amplitude until Bellamy could no longer hear the sound of his hands meeting each other again and again in front of his face. Gradually, from among the pandemonium, one word was made more distinguishable than all the others. Spreading out across the stands like a Mexican wave, it wasn’t long before every person in that stadium was chanting along with those surrounding them. Bellamy was sure that this cacophony could be heard on the moon, but when he looked down at Clarke and saw her holding her face in her hands as if it was all too much for her to take, he only shouted louder. After all, it was himself, Miller, Wells, Raven, Jasper, and Monty who had started the mantra, and they of course, would be the last ones to finish it. But for now, he got lost in the one word that simultaneously brought him life and stopped his heart. It swelled around him, seemingly becoming a physical presence. He couldn’t help the swell of pride and the smile that threatened to crack his face in half when he watched her turn in slow circles, mouth agape as she took it all in.

The crowd eventually quietened as the tannoy beeped to signify the revelation of her score. If Bellamy had remembered correctly, she was the last person in her category to perform; therefore, they’d know instantly what position she was. Once again, he felt the breath catch in his throat. He felt a smooth but firm hand slip into his own, and smiled in surprise when he looked down and saw Raven biting her lip and shuffling from foot to foot. Bellamy squeezed her hand reassuringly. It was easy to forget that Clarke had other people in her life that loved her as much as he did. He knew that Clarke and Raven had been best friends for years, so he could only imagine how it felt for her to watch her friend stand on the edge of a drop that, in seconds, she would either fly away from or fall down.

Looking down into the stadium, he saw now that the other contestants from the floor routine category had moved to join Clarke where she stood in front of the infamous judges table. Her coach stood firmly behind her, acting as what Bellamy could only imagine to be the most comforting presence she had right now. Not for the first time that night, he wished she could see him, to know that he was there. The thought was pushed from his mind when the commentator’s cheerful voice boomed over the speakers, cracking the anxious silence into pieces.

“All of our incredibly talented performers have given their ab-sol-ute  _all_ tonight! However, only 3 can advance into internationals, and only one can claim tonight’s prize of $750! Best of luck to you all!” There was a pause, before the joyous voice started up again.

“In 3rd place….” Raven almost crushed the bones in Bellamy’s hand, “Natalia Spinnerbait!” The room erupted into enthusiastic applause that seemed to radiate from a small section of seats towards the right of Bellamy. He guessed they were her family and friends. When she came forward to collect her bronze medal, all long legs and sun-kissed skin, Bellamy felt Raven’s hand relax slightly in relief. It was tense once more, however, as the girl stepped back into line and the tannoy started up again, silencing the crowd immediately. There was a moment where Bellamy thought that Monty might faint, but then he watched as Miller put his arm around him, and he smiled to himself, despite feeling as if the world was spinning half as fast as it’s meant to.

“In second place, Charlotte Murphy-Law!” Bellamy heaved out a sigh of relief as soon as the commentator said ‘Charlotte’, and once again he felt Raven’s hand go lax in his. Taking a look around his friends as a small, blonde girl who looked to be no older than 12, stepped towards the judges to receive a silver medal and a bouquet of flowers. Monty still looked worryingly pale, Jasper fiddled with the goggles that hug around his neck irrevocably, Raven was taking deep breaths through her nose at a steady pace, and Wells looked like he was about to combust. Sneaking a glance at Finn, Bellamy noticed with distaste that he seemed to be checking out the girls surrounding them. Shrugging him off, he turned his attention back to the diverse line up of girls, six of which were still left to be picked from.

As the room quietened down again, Bellamy felt like he was on some sort of rollercoaster. There was a slow build up, an incline that had your stomach knotted in anticipation. Then, when you reached the top, there would be a pause, for suspense. And just a second before you could prepare yourself, you were hurtling down the track, the force of the air against you knocking the oxygen out of your lungs. Once again, they were trudging up the incline.

The tannoy beeped.

There was a pause.

“And in first place, advancing through to internationals at Easter and taking home a cash prize of $750 dollars is…”

Bellamy could’ve sworn that Raven was crushing his bones more with every passing second.

Holding his breath, he felt as if the whole world froze. In that moment, that second before he could prepare himself, it’s as if time stopped.

“Clarke Griffin!”

Woosh! Hurtling down the track they went as the time started once more. He heard Raven squeal seconds before the stadium erupts once more into an uproar. Stood still in shock, he felt the impact of the slim girl’s body as she flings her arms around him. It took him a second to register what’s happening. But, then it hit him. Laughing loudly into Ravens shoulder, he threw his arms around her and spun her round in circles as they basked in each other’s pride for the girl that was blushing profusely now as she bowed her head to receive her Gold medal, bouquet of flowers, and envelope of cash from the now smiling judges.

Bellamy let Raven untangle herself from him and was briefly aware of her hugging Wick beside him. Other than that, he was completely unaware of his surroundings, having only a space in his heart for one person in that whole entire room. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he could make out the mantra that he influenced earlier, spark up again, consuming the entire arena. He felt his eyes brim with moisture that he quickly swallowed down as he joined the chants (at first with a whisper that quickly became a shout). He watched her as he spoke, noted the way she tucked her hair behind her ear shyly, whilst keeping her head held high in pride. His heart swelled and it took everything in him to not run down over the barriers between them and kiss her until her knees gave way. Instead, he just lost himself in the word that brings him peace on his most hellish of days as the chant goes on.

Clarke. Clarke. Clarke. Clarke. Clarke. Clarke. Clarke. Clarke.

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When she came out of the stadium, forty-five minutes after everybody else, she was on the phone. Her hair, once professionally curled was now in a messy bun at the top of her head. She wore black leggings and converse, with a grey hoody that looked to be a men’s one. The bitter winter air hit her hard as she stepped out the warm of the lobby, so pinning the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she pulled her backpack off her back, and began rummaging around for a pair of gloves. Finding only a fingerless pair, she shrugged to herself and decided they’d have to do, so she donned them anyway.

Ivy was still chirping down the phone as the girl made her way down the steps towards the car park, taking care not to slip on any ice on the way down. She accepted her sister’s congratulations gratefully as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. When she looked up, he was there, as if he had manifested from the snow. His appearance caused her to stop mid-stride and mid-sentence. After a long pause, she couldn’t help but grin widely, before calming her sister’s concern and ending the call. Then, without further hesitation, she dropped her bag from her shoulder and ran at him, full pelt.

Bellamy grunted when Clarke barrelled into him, her arms clutching at his jersey and her legs wrapped around his hips. He couldn’t help the throaty chuckle that escaped him when she buried her face in the exposed juncture between his neck and shoulder, pressing her lips softly to his skin. Every time he saw her, Bellamy swore she just got more adorable. And the way she was holding on to him now, as if she never wanted to walk away, had his heart doing strange things. Threading one hand through her hair, he held her close whilst his other arm was wrapped firmly around her lower back, stopping her from falling. She was murmuring something into his skin, but it was indecipherable to him. Not wanting to pull away, Bellamy walked her to where he had re-parked his car (less than ten steps away thank God (walking with a Clarke attached to you wasn’t easy)), before setting her gently on the bonnet.

Removing his arm from around her waist, he pulled his face away from where it had been buried in her hair and willed his legs to remain functional when she whimpered quietly at the loss of contact. Smiling at her, he quickly kissed her pout away, before tucking the same persistent piece of hair behind her ear once more.

“What did you say, princess?” he asked softly.

“You made it,” she replied, her eyes swimming with emotion, her voice thick with wonder.  He chuckled again, a rush of warmth igniting his bones when she only pulled him closer into the V of her legs.

“Of course I made it Clarke! We’re a team, right?”

She smiled broadly at this.

“A team,” she repeated, soundly.

“And as team captain,” he lowered his voice mockingly, earning a snort of laughter from Clarke, “I’d like you to know that whilst you are an absolute pain in the arse to argue with… I’m so proud of you, Clarke.” By the end of the sentence he was soft spoken, barely whispering the words to her as if they were too precious to release into the world.

Too moved to speak, Clarke merely nodded, before combing her fingers through his curls to bring him closer to her. His brain seemed to do a backflip when she let out a sigh at the soft brush of his lips on hers. When he pulled away before she could deepen the kiss, she pouted in annoyance, tugging slightly at his hair… which may or may not have made his legs buckle and sent a wave of arousal through his body. Grunting, he wrapped his hands tightly around the swell of her ass and slid her closer to him across the smooth surface of the car, not satisfied until she was flush against him. From here, he kissed her pout away, running his tongue along her bottom lip until she met his tongue with her own.

Moving their lips against each other, Bellamy couldn’t help but notice, not for the first time, how well they fit together. Gradually, their kisses got more possessive, each person searching for more of the other. Bellamy gave her ass a final squeeze before running his hands around her hips and down her thighs to her knees, pushing them further apart. Clarke’s hips met Bellamy’s and she thrust forward unintentionally at the feeling of his half-hard dick pressed against her. Breaking the kiss, Bellamy cursed as he fought back the urged to buck his hips in return. They had yet to go as far as intense make out sessions, and Bellamy wasn’t about to change that on the bonnet of his piece of shit car.

At the slip of his usually solid composure, Clarke grinned, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling back lightly. His hands shot from her knees to her hips and she had to clutch at the material of his shirt to maintain balance. It was only then that she realised what he was wearing. And where he had just come from. Reeling back, she slapped a hand over her mouth in horror as she realised how selfish she’d been. Her guilt only intensified when he jumped straight to being concerned, clasping the hand that had been over her mouth in-between his.

“Clarke, what is it? What wrong?” he queried, his voice laced with distress.

“I completely forgot…” she trailed off, still in disbelief.

“Forgot what Clarke?” He almost shook her. She looked up at him, wide-eyes filled with shame. He hated that look on her.

“I didn’t even ask about your game!” She threw her hands up in a sudden act of anger, before burying her face in them, muttering ‘stupid, stupid, stupid’ over and over again. To her surprise and slight suspicion, he let out a bark of laughter. Followed by another. And another. Until he was laughing wholly, the vibrations travelling from his skin to hers. Still too ashamed to look at him, Clarke tried to resist when he made an attempt to pull her hands away from her face, crooning her name, a smile in his voice. It was obviously a futile attempt, however, as he was a lot stronger than her, and had her hands replaced with his own before she could do anything about it. Cupping her face on either side, he gently raised her head until their eyes met.

“You are so adorable,” he smirked, his words full of adoration that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Seriously Bell!” she exclaimed, pushing lightly at his chest, “it just escaped my mind because I was so happy to see you and I know that’s no excuse-” He cut her off with his lips and she melted into him again. Her hands, flat against his chest from where she’d feebly tried to shove him, clenched into fists, locking him and his shirt to her. But all too soon she was pulling away again, frown lines creasing her otherwise smooth forehead.

“It’s too easy for you to distract me.” She pouted, which made him want to kiss her a lot more. But before he could, she was talking again. “So, how did it go?” she asked, her face hopeful. He sighed, resigned to the fact that the moment was lost, and dropped his hands from her face to clutch her waist.

“Bellamy!” She prompted, impatiently when he remained silent. He bowed his head, as if ashamed, and instantly she felt bad.

“Hey,” she whispered, crooking two fingers under his chin to raise his eyes to her level like he had done for her just moments before. “I don’t care, you’re with me and that’s all I want.” Taking her other hand, she stroked the back of his neck soothingly, before leaning in once more. This kiss was unlike the other one. It was slow, gentle, and an expression of everything they felt but couldn’t put into words.

With every brush of his hand on her skin, with every touch of his lips against hers, with every rush of his breath against her own, she felt herself falling more and more in love with her old enemy. Reflecting back, she thought about how immature he was just a few weeks ago. He had grown so much since then. She guessed that they both had. That was, until, she felt him chuckle into the kiss, unable to help himself anymore. When he pulled back, erupting into peals of laughter, Clarke felt herself frown in confusion.

“Bell? What?” she asked. When he only leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, she felt her breathing stutter. Much to her dislike, the kiss was a brief one, and he was back to grinning like a Cheshire cat.

 _“B-e-l-l-a-m-y!”_ she whined, slapping his chest lightly. He shook his head, composing himself slightly but not losing the smile.

“We won, princess, 33-17!” Narrowing her eyes when he started laughing once more, Clarke tried valiantly to stop herself from smiling, but his laughter made her feel light headed and it was kind of contagious so she gave him a shove so that he stumbled away from the car, muttering “you’re an ass” as she did so. Seizing her opportunity, she pushed herself off the bonnet and made to run past him, but he was faster. Wrapping his arms around her waist as she passed him, Bellamy bought her back flush to his front and laughed as she squealed with laughter.

Wriggling in his arms to try and get away, Clarke knew that she had been busted. There was no way he was going to take her for angry now, so instead she opted for the escape. That plan went straight out the window, however, when he pressed a series of feather light kisses to her neck. Instantly ceasing her efforts to get out of the bear hug she was currently encased in, she felt his smug smile on her skin when her traitorous body melted into his. Just when she thought her defeat couldn’t get any worse, he took a pinch of her skin between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth and no doubt leaving a bruise. Something he’d probably take pleasure out of seeing in the coming days, she thought. Her theory was confirmed seconds later when he sucked her earlobe into the heated cavern of his mouth, before whispering “mine” into the shell of her ear. Clarke was almost appalled with herself at how strong her response was. Seemingly without her permission, a soft moan had escaped her parted lips at the same time her ass grinded down onto his dick. Heat pooled to her lower abdomen and all the blood seemed to rush from her body. Then, in total Bellamy Blake fashion, he dropped his arms from around her, stepping away from her and leaving her feeling cold and un-whole.

“Don’t forget your bag,” he smirked, turning to climb into the car. Leaning down to his window to flip him off, she smiled to herself as his laughter drifted away when she swung her hips long and slow on the walk to her bag.

Watching her go, Bellamy felt his heart leaped to his throat at the mere sight of her. As he’d discovered earlier, leaving Clarke wanting was one of his favourite things to do, but never had doing it had such an effect on him before. Not that he would ever admit it, but he knew that part of the reason he’d stepped away from her then was because he hadn’t anticipated such a reaction for the word he whispered in her ear. But he liked the sound of it. And he definitely liked the sound that came out of her mouth. The problem was, he wanted to do things right with Clarke. She was too important to him for this to not be perfect. Bellamy Blake might have a reputation for being a man-whore, but this was new territory for even him.

The familiar blip of his phone that signified he had a text message brought him out of his reverie. Taking another look at Clarke, who seemed to be in conversation with one of the judges who must have walked out late, he unlocked his phone.

He had 7 missed calls, 10 messages and 3 voicemails from O. Throat closing up in panic, he fumbled with the buttons, holding the phone up to his ear and he bared his teeth through the automated answering machine before he got to her voicemail.

“Bell, hey, so, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say this since I found out 5 hours ago but… you see… it’s about...” There was a heavy sigh, and Bellamy waited with baited breath. “It’s Clarke,” she said, finally, and his stomach dropped. Turning his head to look out the window at her, he took in the cute little converse she wore (being only a size 3 ½), the curve of her ass in her leggings, the way his jumper came over her finger tips as she talked animatedly to the old women. His eyes followed the slope of her neck and he could just make out the fresh red mark. Octavia’s despondent voice continued in his ear.

“Remember the black eye, Bell? Yeah well it wasn’t gymnastics. It was her step-dad. Apparently, it happens all the time and she- she,” Octavia’s voice cracked down the line and when he heard her sobbing softly, he closed his eyes in pain.  “Oh God,” she sucked in a breath, “she keeps it to herself, to save her sister. For so many years, Bell!” She sobbed harder. Bellamy felt like the amount of oxygen in the car had halved in the last thirty seconds. “I just, I just need you to call me, okay? I need to know you’re okay, and I need you to know that I love you.” The sob that was torn from her throat to end the call brought a stabbing pain to his chest. Locking his phone, he threw his head back to the headrest and fought back all the waves of emotion that overwhelmed him.

He didn’t even see her approach the car, minutes later, only being stirred from his thoughts by the sound of the passenger door slamming shut behind her as she babbled on about things that Bellamy couldn’t, as of now, give less of a shit about. But he smiled, and he nodded, made occasional sounds of approval or disagreement, before turning on the radio when she finally fell silent. When he automatically flipped it to her favourite channel, she smiled warmly at him, placing her hand over his where it rested on the gear stick.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned up the Jake Bugg song that she loved, unable to smile even when she sang along in that adorable way he loved so much. As the song reached the final verse, Bellamy felt a deep sadness in his heart. He had no idea where to go from here. He was completely out of his depth. And she had been lying to him, this whole time. It felt someone had just taken a spade to his heart and dug out a hole… and then just kept digging. Her voice drifted to his ears, and he allowed himself to get lost in it. But now, it didn’t really feeling like home at all.

Tried liberation of my own free will But it left me looking to get higher still Oh and the answer well who would have guessed Could be something as simple as this God knows how I could have missed Something as simple as this 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bellamy knows...  
> DUN DUN DUN  
> My beta said that ya'll would go crazy at me for this 
> 
> I do not doubt her  
> So I apologise  
> Monty and miller are my fave  
> OH and I dislike finn strongly and wick is my bae just encase you got confused as to why I was suddenly starting up a hate finn campaign 
> 
> URL: darlingmaywemeetagain xoxo


	16. Merry Ho Ho! Hoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no fanfic you guys! sorry it's been so long, a levels have hit me hard  
> my beta hates me for it, but to make it up to you guys, this is a long onee  
> however  
> warnings:  
> ANGST  
> ANGST  
> CHRISTMAS  
> ANGST  
> Merry Christmas! :*

Chapter 16

December 24th. AKA: Christmas Eve. AAKA: the Blake family’s favourite holiday. A fact that was devastatingly obvious the moment you stepped into their front yard. Fairy lights rimmed the slated roof, their aged-yellow glow contesting the stars that danced miles above them. Crisp white snow blanketed the grass, yet the path was clear and enticing as it led up to a dark oak door. Here hung an evergreen wreath, adorned with dried oranges, cinnamon sticks, and pinecones.

Smiling to himself, Bellamy reached for the door handle, brushing off gathering frost with his glove as he did so. Once inside, he hung his large winter coat onto a nearby peg, making sure to lay newspaper beneath it so the fast melting snow wouldn’t ruin the wooden floor. Next, he removed his wellies, carefully placing them adjacent to the adorably smaller wellies of his sister. He didn’t fail to notice the absence of his mother’s shoes. Frowning, he studied the size of the unfamiliar black boots which were tucked neatly against the wall, as if trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

“How very Lincoln,” he muttered quietly to himself, sarcasm lacing his voice.

“Oh come on Bell, don’t be like that! It’s Christmas! And Octavia is-”

“-big enough to make her own decisions. I know, I know,” he interrupted, smiling broadly as he turned to face her, swallowing all negative feelings deep into the pit of his stomach.  Clarke had removed both her coat and her wellies and placed them next to Bellamy’s (he tried not to shed light on the rush of warmth that overcame him at the thought of how domestic the whole thing felt) and was in the motion of removing her gloves and beanie. Before she could, however, Bellamy was in front of her, cornering her against the solid door.

“Bellamy!” she whined as he buried his face into the soft skin of her neck, “you’re cold!” Despite her protests (and her punching), Clarke was smiling. Happiness radiated off her with such a force that he could’ve sworn melted the snow outside. He chuckled into her skin, only to laugh harder when she moaned quietly at the vibrations it sent through her. It’s not that he’d forgotten what Octavia had told him… he was just… it wasn’t the right time! Why should he be the one to ruin Christmas by bringing it up? It’s not like he’s avoiding the fact that she blatantly lied to his face or that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him or anything… he’ll bring it up eventually. Right? 

Right. But until then, he was going to pretend like nothing had changed. He still loved her. He _LOVED_ her. It didn’t matter that they’d only been together for a month, he was like 97.63% sure he’d loved her every day since she stamped on his foot in volleyball, freshman year. _He loved her._ It didn’t matter that even when she was with him, he missed her. _He loved her_. Nor that when she laughed aloud, it pulled at the strings inside him that are meant to stop hearts from breaking. _He loved her._ He just had to refrain from pointing out the ugly bruises on her pale skin and instead tell her she was beautiful. _He loved her._ He could do it. It wouldn’t be forever. Everything was going to be okay in the end. But since their story was only just beginning…

“Hey, spacey? Almost lost you for a moment there,” Clarke laughed, tapping him on the nose.

“Do you remember what happened,” he whispered in reply, right into the shell of her ear, “the last time you wore this beanie?” His grin broadened at the sound of her giggle.

“You attacked me!” she sighed dramatically, pushing her hips off the door until they met his – an action which forced him to clutch at her waist, leaving her smirking up at him.

“Princess,” he growled, his voice low, “I think your memories are a little hazy. Must’ve been all the fun you were having.” Adjusting his body slightly, he parted her legs with his, pulling her hips down until her groin met his raised knee. She inhaled sharply at the contact, tipping her head back against the door, face flushed against the pale light of the candle which flickered inside the lantern on the sideboard. Faintly, the sound of Octavia’s beloved Michael Bublé Christmas Vinyl could be heard against the crackling of the fire and the laughter of the couple sure to be setting up dinner in the kitchen. Bellamy felt his heart swell impossibly. Then Clarke let out a wanting whine, grinding her hips down against his leg in a desperate attempt to create friction and pushing her breasts against his chest in the process. Bellamy felt himself harden against her.

Their foreheads were pressed together now. Stubborn snowflakes which dusted her hat and hair had begun to melt against the warm skin of his face. Looking down at her through heavily hooded eyes, he took in her cold-reddened nose, rosy lips and icy pale skin. Her eyes were closed in anticipation, her breaths short and fast against his lips. She was the type of beautiful which couldn’t be painted or drawn. He’d been told that there was no such thing as perfect, but he figured that if anyone had to claim that title, it would be her. It would be Clarke. On the outside, she seemed fragile. Like a China doll ready to break. On the inside, however, she was steel and iron. Pillars of marble structured her, her foundations cemented with the finest gold. And her eyes, oh her eyes, like diamonds, crisp and cerulean and impossible to crack. Once again, his sister’s stuttering voice telling him Clarke’s biggest secret sounded in his mind. How could anyone hurt Clarke willingly? How could anyone damage something so beautiful? The very image of it made his jaw clench in fury.

“Remind me then,” she whispered, the raw lust in her voice quelling his anger like ice to a flame. Absentmindedly, Bellamy became aware of her nimble fingers, cold beneath the wool of his sweater as they skipped along his abs, up his ribs and around his back, pulling him effortlessly closer towards her. Not that he was going to resist. Not when she was looking at him like that anyways. Lowering his head until their bottom lips brushed, he proudly managed to get in the last word – “yes Ma’am” – before tracing her bottom lip with his tongue. Clarke parted her lips immediately, darting her tongue out slightly to catch his. In retaliation, he took her bottom lip in-between his front teeth and applied slight pressure, pulling back as he did so. He smirked when she chased his lips again, bringing a hand out from under his clothes to sink into the mess of curls at the top of his spine, crashing their bodies together.

Amidst all the making-out, Clarke ground down on his leg again driving Bellamy to break the kiss in order to swear. His ears thrummed with the heavy beat of his heart, yet her laugh made each pulse feel weightless. Smiling down at her, he bent two fingers and lifted her chin so that her face was once again angled towards him. Drowning out the voices in his head which tried to remind him of her lies, he leaned down to kiss her once more, unable to get enough. A loud knock on the door they were pressed against was enough to force them to spring apart, however.

“Bell! Can you get that?” Octavia called from the kitchen, breaking the tense silence. Grinning sheepishly up at him, Clarke adjusted her sweater and hat, before giving Bellamy a once over. Licking the pad of her thumb, she stood on her tiptoes to swipe the remnants of her lipstick off the corners of his mouth. Bellamy, suddenly incapable of doing anything but beam fondly at her, watched with adoration as she frowned whilst combing her hands through his hair in a fast attempt to cover up their antics. Rubbing the pad of his index finger across the lines between her brows that formed when she scowled (as she was doing so now) he caught her off-guard. Having been concentrating hard on re-styling his hair, the unexpected contact, no matter how gentle, caused her to lose balance, almost sending her falling to the floor. Luckily enough for her, she was dating the captain of the Lacrosse team. The cat-like reflexes that had been drilled into him in every training session caused him to almost subconsciously wrap his arms around her waist as she stumbled, bringing her body crashing into his once more. Time seemed suspended, like a pendulum at the point where it’s not rising or falling. In his mind, he thought about kissing her again, eager to taste her, to silence the voices in head that bellowed reason. But, before his body could catch on, she was talking, her eyes hinting a certain seriousness to the conversation.

“Bell… I don’t think I ever thanked you, for what you did? The night of the party… carrying me to your car and then letting me stay I just… I wanted to thank you. You had no reason to be kind to me, but you were anyway, and that’s one of the reasons that I-” Unfortunately, she was interrupted by a second sharp knock on the door, followed by some curses and a loud thump.

“BELLAMY!” Octavia shouted, exasperated. “GET THE DOOR YOU MORON!”

Sighing loudly, he released a chuckling Clarke, before reaching around her to open the door. The first face he saw on the other side of it, however, almost had him shutting it again.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” chorused the crowd of friends Octavia had invited for a pre-Christmas dinner. First to stroll through the door was Finn. Smirking, he glanced briefly at Bellamy, shoving a box of chocolate into his hands, before pushing past him to throw his arms around Clarke. From over Finn’s shoulder, Clarke could see Bellamy’s jaw tick with anger, thus causing her to make the hug a brief one. She and Finn had been friends since middle school, she had every right to hug him. That didn’t mean she was enjoying the smirk he kept giving her boyfriend every time he was around them. Clarke also didn’t fail to miss the fact that he left Raven standing out in the snow, not stopping to shed her coat like Bellamy had done for her a few minutes previously. She made a mental note to check with her friend that everything was going okay in their relationship. Next through the door was Monty, followed swiftly by Miller, who handed Bellamy a bottle of champagne, slapping him on the back with a hearty “Merry Christmas”, before bending down to kiss Clarke softly on the cheek. As he drew back, she winked at him, nodding her head towards where Monty was stacking his boots against the wall. He winked back at her, and made his way into the dining room. As Bellamy greeted the next guest, Jasper, the sound of Octavia screaming from down the hall as Monty and Miller entered the kitchen hand in hand had them all in stiches. 

“We won’t be hearing the end of that any time soon,” Jasper snickered knowingly, before handing Bellamy a large jar of clear liquid.

“Erm, Jasper?” he queried.

“Yah?” the skinny boy replied, almost losing his balance as he hopped on one foot when trying to remove his wellies.

“What’s this?” Bellamy scrunched up his nose as he handed the jar to Clarke. She held it up to her face in order to study the contents further.

“Ah!” having successfully removed his boots, Jasper stood proudly with his hands on his hips before declaring, “That’s Monty’s new and improved Moonshine! Mulled Wine flavoured for all your festive festivities!” Before he had even finished his speech, he was sliding down the hall in his wellie socks, having to grasp onto a doorframe as he almost lost his footing.

“Like Bambii on ice,” Bellamy whispered into Clarke’s ear, making her giggle into the cool glass of the jar she was still clutching.

“This household is getting more and more insane by the second. Soon we’ll all have to wear visitor’s passes and hand over our keys so they can’t be used as offensive weapons,” chimed Wick, as he ambled through the door, stacking another box of chocolates on top of the one Bellamy held in his hand. Turning in the doorway, the blonde offered his hand to Raven, who blushed at his smile, before sliding her leather-gloved hand into his, and allowing herself to be pulled into the warmth of the house. Clarke raised her eyebrows at her friend, which only made her blush more fiercely.

“Takes a crazy person to know a crazy person,” sniped the beautiful Latina as she shook the snowflakes out of her hair.

“I know! I mean, how else would I have found out you were such a lunatic?” Wick smiled down at Raven, who in turn, stepped into the curve of his side. Bellamy looked down at Clarke, his eyes wide in a silent “what the fuck?!”

Clarke, who was by this point fluent in the facial features of Bellamy Blake, just shrugged her shoulders, before ushering her friends into the dining room. Behind her, she heard Bellamy shutting the front door, frowning as she tried to figure out where their missing guests might be.

“No Murphy?” she asked once Bellamy had caught up with her, stood just before the entrance of the rather full dining room.

“Nah, he’s usually out picking up desperate girls on Christmas Eve. It’s like a sport to him.” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “No Wells?”

“Um, no. He usually goes to see his folks up in Washington for Christmas, so…” Clarke trailed off. Sensing her reluctance to broach that certain subject, Bellamy changed tact.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, nudging her gently with his shoulder, earning a smile, “I know we have never really talked about that night… I mean I never really even asked you why-”

“Don’t,” she cut in, her voice suddenly cold.

“Clarke-” he began, trailing off with the realisation that he had no fucking idea where to even begin. It was like the words he wanted, _needed_ to say just wouldn’t form on his tongue. So he did what any normal person would do in that situation. He changed to subject.

“Since we haven’t really spoke about what went down, and since you haven’t mentioned it to me, then I guess you don’t know, but, a couple days after the party, I just saw him and I…” he paused as she turned her head to face him, eyebrows raised. “I punched Atom.”

There was a moment of silence. And then she laughed, clutching her sides like she was holding her stomach in place. Frowning, Bellamy expressed his confusion.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“So did I!” she cackled, almost unable to stop laughing long enough to tell him. At this revelation, however, Bellamy began laughing along with her.

“Of course you did!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as if he had had enough, still beaming at her.

“Poor kid,” she sighed, having regained her composure. Bellamy snarled his disagreement. “Oh come on Bell, he’s a shitdick, I’ll give you that, but he’s only sixteen, and he got punched in the face… twice!”

“Hey! I never said it was in the face.” Bellamy exclaimed, straining to be heard above the Christmas music.

“Bellamy Blake, I know you well. It was in the face,” she replied matter-of-factly, staring straight ahead as her voice got lost in the cheers from the doorway ahead of them. Bellamy opened his mouth to make his case, but was beaten to the punch by Octavia calling them to look up. To neither Clarke nor Bellamy’s surprise, dangling above them was a branch of mistletoe, hung by a cherry red ribbon.

“Nice touch, O,” Bellamy muttered as he leaned in to meet Clarke, both their hands full with gifts. Clarke smiled into the fleeting kiss, moving away from him all too soon, already barking orders to their guests regarding who would sit where and who would be serving what.

Placing the gifts he still cradled in his arms onto a chest-of-drawers which stood at the entrance of the dining room, Bellamy Blake took a moment, on that blustery Christmas Eve, to really look at the nine most important people in his life (give or take a few). He watched as his baby sister laughed until her eyes sparkled with tears, her arm slung around the solid torso of Lincoln, whose smile was as broad as his biceps. Already seated at the table was Finn, who seemed to be engrossed in his mobile phone. Okay so, maybe the eight most important people in his life. Admiring the Christmas tree, side by side, stood Monty and Miller. Bellamy tried to think back to the first time he became aquatinted with Nathan Miller, his long-time best friend, but only came up with an infinite number of memories. Watching silently from the doorway, he welcomed the swell in his chest when he acknowledged the happiness of his “almost” brother and his new-found boyfriend. Wick and Raven could be heard in the kitchen, cackling louder than the Christmas music as they initiated the rolling of the drinks.

 Of course, the centre of his attention was in fact Clarke. Having now shed her beanie and gloves (and touched up her current coloured lipstick from where it had smudged during their kiss), she was the image of Christmas. Her crimson swing dress, which came down to mid-thigh, twirled around her as she darted her way round the room, ushering people to their seats and offering them the champagne Miller had brought. Her hair, a shimmering gold in the warm glow of the room, sat in precise curls around her shoulders, a few strands falling from behind her ear every time she leaned forward to pour the drink. Bellamy, for the life of him, couldn’t stop his heart racing when she glanced up at him from across the room, the corners of her delicate mouth tugging up into a crooked smile. Setting the bottle onto the mantle over the fire place – which contained a crackling fire thanks to Lincoln – Clarke danced her way around the table, asking everyone she passed if they needed anything on the way. Eventually, she got to him. Tugging his hands into hers, she swung them gently in the space between them, in time to the music (which was now Frank Sinatra’s ‘Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!’).

“Why do you have frowny face?” she pouted up at him, her eyes flickering shades of blue. Bellamy breathed out a laugh, matching her pout.

“I don’t have frowny face.”

“Well now you have puppy face.”

“Well now you have squinty face.”

“I have to squint! To try and see you, because you’re _so_ far away,” she smirked.

“Ha ha ha,” Bellamy faked laughed, “that’s only because you’re _so_ close to the ground.”

“What can I say, I’m just _so_ down to Earth.” Smiling even wider, she tilted her head to rest on her shoulder, reminding Bellamy of a playful puppy.

“You’re right, you are close to Earth… in the sense that you’re both _so_ full of shit.” His smile was as wide as hers now, their hands swinging more vigorously as they toyed with each other. For Bellamy, one of the best things about their relationship was that, even now, they could still tease each other with the same level of wit and sarcasm as they use to. Some things, he guessed, never changed.

“Alright, old man, you win that round,” she glared at him when he “whooped” in celebration, “so as a reward, you get to kiss me.”

“Oh boy!” he exclaimed in exaggerated joy, “I’ve always wanted to do that!”

“I know you have, now hurry up. I have appetisers to serve!” she chirped, pushing up towards him on her tip-toes.

“God, so pushy,” he mumbled as he changed the position of their hand-holding so that their fingers were interlocked. Suddenly, using the reinforced grip, Bellamy pulled her towards him, moving his hands up behind his neck as he leant down towards her, and then letting her hands go, so that they now rested on his at the top of his spine.

“Smooth,” she commented in a whisper, their lips an inch apart.

“That’s me,” he replied, before his smirk was cut-off by Clarke’s lips, pushing softly against his own. Pushing back after a second or two, he slid his hands down to rest either side of her waist, just above her hip-bones. But all too quickly, she was pulling away, hesitating slightly and releasing a contented sigh, before unlocking her arms and bouncing away, calling to Octavia to help her in the kitchen. Shaking his head as he laughed to himself, Bellamy watched in amusement as she did that signature extra sway of her hips she knew he loved so much, before taking his seat.

Because this dinner was a construction of an actual Christmas dinner (most people were with family on Christmas day, so they had to compromise), and because Octavia and Clarke and their almost alarming organisational skills had been the ones to plan this whole thing out, everyone had an assigned seat. At one head of the table sat Bellamy, to the left of him was Clarke, who (unfortunately) was sat next to Finn. Then there was Monty, then Jasper, then Lincoln, with Octavia as the other head of the table- it was the Blake’s house after all. On the other side of the table was Miller (who was opposite Monty), Raven (opposite Finn) and Wick (next to Bellamy).

All his life, Bellamy had adored Christmas. He’d loved the mystery of Santa when he was a kid, and seeing Octavia so excited to unwrap her presents. When it snowed, Bellamy was the first one to be out in it, building an army of snow-people on the front lawn. As he’d got older, and was able to decorate the house by himself, he spared no expense. There was a tree in almost every room, the fire was nearly almost lit, cinnamon scented candles had seemed to conquer every room, and there was, without fail, always a holy wreath on the front door. Most important of all, however, was the food. And this Christmas Eve annihilated Bellamy’s high expectations. Firstly, there were the aforementioned “appetisers”, which consisted of little sausages baked in date and maple syrup, crusty bread with an assortment of pâtés and a shit ton of olives (Bellamy had detested them ever since he’d choked on one when he was seven, so he had only watched in awe as Jasper practically inhaled them).

Almost as soon as they had been served, Clarke and Octavia appeared once more, this time baring 8 glasses filled with an array of salads, sprinkled with prawns and laced in prawn-cocktail sauce. The only one to not be eating this dish, was of course, Finn, the vegetarian of the group. He, instead, was served carrot and coriander soup which Octavia had bought from the corner shop that afternoon for less than $1. Not that he knew that. Regardless, everybody finished their starters, and, excluding a short bathroom break, they were swiftly followed up by what can only be describe as a colossal  amount of carbs.

On each plate, hidden underneath a sea of gravy, was mash potatoes, roasted parsnips and carrots, several pigs in blankets, a small mountain of roast potatoes, yams, the dreaded Brussel sprouts (just barely making the menu, and only on account of Lincoln who worshipped them) and everyone had a generous helping of roast rib of beef, from the butchers themselves. Except, of course, for Finn, who had Quorn instead.

“Oh my god you guys,” Jasper said, his mouth half full of food, “this is fucking incredible!”

“Agreed, thank you Clarke,” Lincoln smiled over to her, nodding when she returned the gesture.

“Erm? What about me?” Octavia piped up, her tone incredulous.

 “And you, of course Octavia, Clarke couldn’t have done all this without you drinking all her cooking wine and stealing the potatoes when she wasn’t looking!” Bellamy chimed in, smirking across the packed table to his sibling. The rest of the guests chuckled in unison, throwing about their own jokes as Octavia stuck out her tongue at her brother.

“Speaking of wine,” said Miller, after the moment has passed, “we never did a toast!”

“Oh crap!” Clarke cried out in frustration. “I had a slot for that and everything!” This earned her another laugh from the table, but her shoulders still sagged in defeat. She had wanted this day to be perfect, after all, it was her and Bellamy’s first Christmas together. And yet, they weren’t even halfway through the evening and she had skipped ahead of schedule. Feeling a warm hand grasp hers from where it lay on the table, curled into a fist in annoyance, Clarke looked up to see Bellamy deep in conversation with Wick. Glancing round the table, she saw Raven was also looking interested in their conversation. Or, rather, in one of its participants. Unclenching her fist, Clarke gave his hand a squeeze, felt him squeeze it back in reassurance whilst watching him not even falter in his discussion. At this, she grinned slightly to herself. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Bellamy Blake, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to question whatever high-power or destined path that lead her to him.

“Griffin, can you please stop eye-fucking my brother whilst I am in the room… and trying to eat!” Octavia called over the top of the low rumble of conversation that had filled the room. The now silent room, much to Clarke’s embarrassment. Feeling the heat rush to her cheeks, she tore her eyes away from Bellamy, just as he turned to look at her, apparently completely oblivious to her stares.

“Oh leave ‘em alone Tav,” said Raven, taking a moment to down half of her glass of wine, “they’re happy.” It may have just been Clarke’s imagination, but she could’ve sworn she saw her friend and Finn sharing a glare as she said that. Before she could comment, however, the man himself was already talking.

“Yeah, thank God Bellamy stopped being such a man whore and picked one girl to fuck instead of all of them.” At this comment, the room dropped to a whole new-level of silent. Both Monty and Jasper had stopped mid-chew, Bellamy was almost breaking Clarke’s hand with his own, Octavia had seemed to have found great interest in her fingernails, whilst Lincoln, Miller and Wick were looking at anything that wasn’t Finn or Raven, who were currently clenching their jaws and sending each other murderous looks from across the table.

Excruciatingly, everybody remained silent. It was if the room had become a vacuum. Or as if they had been sucked into a particle-less blackhole. What was about to happen next would have Clarke wishing that, at that moment, she had in fact been swallowed up by a blackhole.

“Finn,” Raven’s voice had dropped to a tone that was dangerously low. The stage of anger that proceeded this one was a lot of Spanish shouting, and maybe even a punch in the stomach. But yeah, this stage of Raven-being-pissed was pretty terrifying. “Don’t start this now.”

“What? I am not _starting_ anything,” he drawled. “I was just saying how happy they look, you know, considering the circumstances.”

“Finn-” Raven began, menacingly, before someone else interrupted.

“What circumstances?” Clarke asked, her voice soft but firm.

“Oh you know, the whole Harper thing,” Finn said, dismissively, waving his hand and picking up his drink as this was old news. And it was. To everybody but Clarke.

“Finn,” Bellamy spoke now, his eyes cold and his harsh voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade, “don’t”. Pronouncing that word slowly for emphasis, Bellamy drove home his warning with a glare that even Clarke had never seen before. Octavia, face now pale, jumped up out her seat without warning, causing Jasper to almost topple back in fright.

“Any-body-want-any-more-gravy?” she gushed, in a desperate attempt to change the subject. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late. Gesturing for her to sit, Clarke turned to Finn.

“What ‘whole Harper thing’?” she asked. Finn smirked.

Bellamy wanted to punch him.

Wick had to grab Raven’s hands to actually stop her from doing just that.

“Oh come on Clarke, surely he told you?”

Clarke turned back to face Bellamy, her eyes searching his face for any explanation to what was being talked about. She watched as his jaw ticked in rage, his whiskey eyes burning alight with it. And then, unexpectedly, she watched him deflated, his shoulders sagging. Removing his hand from hers, he rubbed it across his face, before leaning back in his chair, as if a decade of exhaustion had just hit him all at once.

“Told me what, Bellamy?” she asked, her voice raising in volume and irritation. Uncharacteristically, her boyfriend was silent. Even more worrying to the blonde was the fact that his sister was too.

“Well?” She repeated, when she was met with silence. A few beats passed before Bellamy leaned forward, reaching for her hand and cradling it in his own, his face drawn into a pained frown. His mouth, turned down at the edges, opened and closed several times in an attempt to explain, but for once, his quick wit seemed to fail him.

“Told you about that smokin’ girl he hooked up with just before you guys became official,” Finn interrupted, oh-so smugly.

“She was ‘smokin’’, hey?” Raven queried, her tone sharp. Clarke just stared at Bellamy, a hurt look on her face.

“Maybe she was,” Finn replied, shooting Raven a look of disgust. Bellamy adverted his eyes from Clarke’s in shame.

“Charming!” cried Raven, throwing her hands up in the air in disbelief.

“Oh what, so you can throw open your skinny little legs to this guy,” he threw his thumb in Wick’s general direction, “but I can’t call a pretty girl pretty?” Finn bit back.

“Hey man, no one is throwing open anything!” Wick called over Finn’s question, his hands raised as an indication of their innocence.

“You slept with another girl?” Clarke finally said, her eyes filling with tears, her voice shaking slightly.

“It was before we were even a thing-” began Bellamy, at the same time Raven said “you call every girl pretty! It’s hardly a compliment when it comes from you.”

Miller downed the rest of his beer. It was ¾ full.  

“Before we were even a thing?” Clarke repeated incredulously, tugging her hand out of his grasp.

“Yes!” Bellamy said, slightly panicked, “it was when you didn’t reply to me for ages, I thought you weren’t interested!”

“I was… busy! Not dead!” Clarke replied, the volume of her voice rising further with every second that she had to think about what this meant.

“I’m sorry Clarke, I waited for you to reply, but you didn’t so… I moved on…”

“Well you could’ve waited more than a day!” Clarke cried in anguish. “I thought we agreed. I thought that—you—you told me that I wasn’t like the other girls! That this was serious! And it was so easy for you to just ‘move on’!”

“I did say that!” Bellamy exclaimed, “but that was after Harper and I meant it. I meant it 100% Clarke, still do.”

“A lot of girls are pretty!” Finn continued from across the table, “why can’t I tell them that?”

“Because you’re supposed to be with me, dumbass!”  Raven shouted, her cheeks flushed with her vexation.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” Finn side-eyed Wick again.

“Dude,” the blond guy said, “Raven would never cheat on you. She’s faithful, so chill out. Nothing happened between us!”

“Don’t tell me to chill out,” Finn spat, “and don’t act like you know her better than I do! She’s _my_ girlfriend, remember?”

“Your girlfriend?” Octavia snorted. Lincoln nudged her with his shoulder when Finn shot her a look.

“Yes. My girlfriend, got a problem with your hearing?” he retorted.

“Easy man,” Lincoln said, his voice almost inaudible, but at the same time, impossible to miss.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, and you didn’t. How can I believe you now?” Clarke’s voice came from the other end of the table, anger replacing the hurt in her speech with every word.

“Pot calling the kettle black, much,” scoffed Bellamy, his voice also having lost its pleading tone.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Clarke threw her arms up in emphasis.

“It _means_ that I’m not the only one in this relationship,” he used his index finger to point wildly to her and then to himself, “who’s been keeping secrets.”

“What? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Clarke yelled in frustration, rising to her feet.

“WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT? SERIOUSLY? YOU’RE GOING TO STAND HERE AND PLAY DUMB?”

“IT’S NOT PLAYING DUMB IF YOU ACTUALLY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON?” The rest of the room was quiet now, each of them sat stock still in their chairs, eyes wide as they watched the travesty unfold.

“OKAY THEN, PRINCESS,” Bellamy snarled, “I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S GOING ON—” He got to his feet, glaring at her furiously.

“OH! PLEAAAASSEEE DO!”

“WHAT’S GOING ON,” he pointed his finger at her, almost foaming at the mouth in rage. Clarke’s face was hard at the edges, her features an emotionless mask, whereas Bellamy wore his heart upon his sleeve, and his fury was visible to everyone. “WHAT IS GOING ON,” he repeated, as if he was unsure if he should continue. A helpless shrug from Clarke spurred him on however. “WHAT’S GOING ON IS THAT YOU TOLD ME YOU GOT THAT BLACK EYE FROM GYMNASTICS, AND I ASKED YOU, I ASKED YOU IF YOU WERE TELLING THE TRUTH. AND YOU SWORE TO ME, CLARKE THAT YOU WERE. AND NOW, HERE WE ARE, AND I HAVE TO FIND OUT FROM MY SISTER THAT IT WAS YOUR STEP-DAD! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL CLARKE, HUH?” he scans her face, watches as her throat constricts as she tries to swallow and the colour drains from her face.

“Well Princess?” he repeats, in a tone that, whilst still angry, is lower in volume. Clarke shook her head, eyes cast down, arms clasped in front of her. She can feel every pair of eyes in the room looking at her with pity and she wishes, more than anything she wishes, that the floor would collapse beneath her feet and that she would be gone forever.

“Okay.” He whispers, repeating the word louder as he continues, “Okay, then I’ll tell you how it makes me feel. It makes me feel like—like this big.” He holds his index finger and thumb a few centimetres apart. “It makes me feel so small, because you don’t care. You didn’t care enough about us to tell me, and you didn’t care that one day I might find this out and be hurt and Clarke I—” his voice cracks with emotion. Clarke’s own bottom lip trembles, her eyes swimming with tears. She’s usually so good at withholding her emotions, but she guesses that, like most things, the rules are different with Bellamy.

Everyone in the room was shell-shocked. Octavia and Monty were barely holding back tears, Lincoln had a face that mirrored that of a wounded kitten, Raven, Wick and Miller sat open-mouthed and Jasper chewed dramatically on a luke-warm parsnip.

“I feel so small, so small now because, I can’t save you from this. I can’t help you—and—and it breaks my heart,” once again, his voice cracks. His eyes are bloodshot with the strain of holding back tears, his nose flaring with the effort it takes not to let his face crumble.  “So, if you’re mad at me for hooking up with a girl before I even got to know you, before—before you even got to know me? Then that’s cool, I get it and I am sorry, I am. Just, do me a favour, and times that feeling of betrayal by like, 2000? And then you get to where I am at.”

“Bellamy—” Clarke whispered, tears cascading down her cheeks as she looks at him with utter despair. She reaches for his shoulder, but he dodges her, rubbing the back of his hand underneath his nose and shaking his head.

Lincoln, having witnessed the whole thing, took a moment to look at Octavia, who seemed to be horrified by the whole ordeal. Rising slowly to his feet, as if avoiding setting off an explosion, he spoke in a deliberate tone.

“I think we should go, so these two can have the room. Okay?” he glanced round at his fellow guests as the gaped at him, speechless. Then, one by one, like mindless zombies they began to rise. That was, until, Bellamy spoke up again.

“No,” he said once. “No!” he repeated, louder when no-one seemed to hear him. The whole room froze, mid-motion, and then, as one, they swivelled their heads to face him. Once he had their attention, he continued.

“I’ll go. I need to drive. Clear my head.” His voice was still strained, suggesting that he was still trying not to cry, whether it was because of their audience, or because of Clarke, no-one knew. And no-one had time to ask, as he pushed back his chair with the back of his knees and all but jogged out of the room, throwing on his jacket and boots and grabbing his keys in haste. Clarke was three steps behind him.

“Please, Bell, please listen to me. I had to. I had to keep her safe! I wanted to tell you!” She sobbed as she watched him throw on his coat, his back to her.

“Don’t do that, Clarke, please,” he begged. He must have been crying for sure now, as his voice was thick and rough, like gravel.

“Don’t what Bell? Ask you to listen to me? Is that so unreasonable?” She hiccupped, reaching for his arm to turn him around. As he moved to face her, she took a step forward, only to almost recoil again when she saw his face. Tears leaked across his freckled cheeks and dropped to the floor in quick succession. His eyebrows, drawn tightly together, illustrated the torment inside him all too clearly.

“No,” he murmured as he shook his head, “don’t call me Bell. Don’t do that right now, okay? It-it just makes it harder to walk away.” Clarke caught her breath as he turned away from her again, pulling open the front door to a blast of bitter wind which blew the flames out of the candles in the corridor.

“Well then, good, I will use it, because I don’t think I can bear to watch you walk away from me,” she called over the top of the wind, her voice catching on every other syllable.

“Then don’t look,” he replied, without looking back at her. Twirling his keys in his hand, he then began to walk out the door. Desperate now, Clarke ran after him, in just a dress and barefooted, she lost all feeling in her toes within seven seconds of contact with the snow. She had to jog across the lawn to catch up with his silhouette, the wind whipping her hair around like a washing machine. Once again, she tugged on his arm to get his attention as the wind, having blown away all the moisture from her face, was too loud for her to shout over. When he turned to her once more, his eyes were empty, like the first time they met, when she was a no-one to him. Her stomach clenched at the same time her chest constricted. She waited for a lull in the howling wind before she spoke, feeling herself begin to shiver as the cold seeped into her bones.

“Please, Bell,” she tried one last time, “the snow’s too heavy! It’s too dangerous! Just—just come back inside? Just come inside, it’s Christmas! It’s Christmas and I’m sorry. It’s Christmas and I—I love you.” Clarke held her breath, internally screaming, anxiously wondering if he would say it back. He had to. He was her best friend. If he didn’t she was sure it would crush her like a wave in a storm. She couldn’t really see his face clearly, with the driving snow, in the dark, her eyes filled with tears. She did, however feel a large, familiar hand take her own. Her heart sped up in hope, until he brought it up to his lips, and gave the back of her hand a lingering kiss. Then small butterfly one on each knuckle. Clarke felt her knees giving way. Her mind was screaming at her to stop him. To stop him saying goodbye. But she was helpless to do anything but stand and watch the man she’d hopelessly fallen in love with, walk away. He then turned her hand over, his figure completely blurred now by a mixture of her tears and the snowfall. She could’ve sworn, as her world ceased to turn, that amongst all the snowflakes, she felt a tear drop land on her outstretched fingertips. But then a more solid object was placed in her palm. A long box, is what it felt like. He curved his hand around her own, until she was clutching the mysterious gift in her hand.

And then, with the wind, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did anyone else watch the season 3 trailer and D IE because i sure did  
> happy new year ya'll  
> URL: darlingmaywemeetagain.tumblr.com x x x


	17. "Monty?" "Monty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know  
> you hate me  
> but a-levels are kicking my ass right now  
> so i am trying  
> also i started watching the walking dead  
> so i am dying  
> (the fact that that rhymed and i am not changing it tells you all you need to know about my life rn)
> 
> SIDE NOTE: I have been informed that boxing day in America doesn't exist so.... it does now and ur welcome

Chapter 17

Christmas came and went without a single word exchanged between Clarke and Bellamy.

Probably the only positive thing about the whole ordeal was that Aurora was home for Christmas day, meaning that Bellamy got to see her face when she unwrapped her present- a flight to Chicago in order for her to see her sister. She had sobbed upon realising that she could finally be reunited with her family after seven long years and threw her arms around her grinning son’s neck. Over his petite mothers shoulder, he saw the corner of Octavia’s lips twitch as she witnessed the embrace, which only made him smile wider. Her gaze caught his and her face resumed the bitter glare she had worn since the previous evening, when Bellamy had returned four hours later to an empty house, save for his sister, who was sat on the front step – in the biting cold – cheeks stained with dried tears, who’d been waiting for him. They’d argued, and Octavia had stormed back into the house, crying “even after everything we’ve ever been through, I have never been ashamed of you Bell. Until tonight”, before slamming the door in his face. Bellamy counted to 400 in his head before letting himself into the house.

Five days later and Bellamy had become (in Miller’s words) “painfully pathetic” to be around. Being the stubborn bastard he was, it had taken him an astounding 48 hours to realise that he was, in fact out of line. In truth, he was so far past the line, he was in Narnia. Every moment since that realisation had been filled with self-loathing and regret. If the 51 unopened messages, 3 voicemails and 1 poorly written email to Clarke weren’t enough proof of him being in the wrong, then the fact that, at the annual ‘Boy’s Boxing day Bash’ (which was held at Wick’s house and consisted of the football team taking shots like tic tacs), he was greeted by Monty with a subtle disapproving glare, and a not so subtle slap across the head by Jasper, was.

 Worse than anyone else’s punishment’s, however, was the silent rage of Octavia. She spoke to him only when it was necessary, and even then, she spoke in fragmented sentences; “I’m going out”, “need milk”, “fuck off”. When she did actually have to speak more than four words to him at the same time, she refused to call him anything other than his full-name. Gone were the familiar “big bro”, “Bells”, “Bell” and “B, replaced only by a cold “Bellamy”. It was killing him.  But he remained silent.

He tried – and failed – to stop himself from flinching every time she looked at him. Her big, brown, doe-eyed stare stabbing at him like shards of glass, piercing his flesh and poisoning his blood. When they passed on the stairs, her shoulder ramming into his, as if they were strangers passing in the train-station at rush hour, he bit his tongue. When she woke him up by blasting Teenagers at 9am after he had finished his shift at 5am, he merely covered his head with a pillow, willing away the weariness in his bones.

He missed Octavia, even though he saw her every day. He missed Clarke, even though he slept with one of her t-shirts every night. He missed his dad, even though he had never really known him. He missed his mum, even though they shared the same house. Yet, he said nothing. In fact, he embraced the pain, as if it would somehow make-up for what he did. Despite this, deep down, in his heart, Bellamy knew that there was no redemption for him in this situation. If he was lucky, and apologised enough times, Octavia would cool off and forgive him. The boys, he was sure, were already just trying to forget it. Clarke, he was certain, would absolutely never speak to him again.

And as for himself… Bellamy had grown up with a feeling of nauseating guilt that stemmed from the fear that he wasn’t doing enough for his little sister, that he wasn’t enough for her. This meant that he was accustomed to the feeling, he knew what it felt like to be dragged into a sea of depression by guilt’s slimy talons, before being spat back out again by self-hatred. And then repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Yet, there was no number of years of suffering that could have prepared him for the moment he understood what a colossal dickhead he had been on Christmas Eve. It came over him suddenly, like a sneeze (only soul destroying), at precisely 6:03pm, Boxing day, 2 minutes and 33 seconds after Jasper had hit him over the head, as if the blunt force trauma had somehow recalibrated his brain. If he was asked to describe how he felt in three words, it would be disgusted, mortified and terrified. Disgusted with himself, mortified with the way he just vomited up his best-friend’s darkest secret in front of their entire friendship group, and terrified that Clarke would never forgive him. Dark voices that lurked in the shadows of his consciousness tortured him with the idea that, worse than Clarke’s hatred, was his own. He cannot remember much from the rest of that night. For the life of him he wished that he could say the same about the night that he walked away, like a coward, when he should have stayed. But, unfortunately for him, karma’s a bitch. And bitches? They never let you forget.

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“Wait, wait, wait!” Octavia exclaimed, holding her hands out in front of her, palms facing outwards, in order to silence the girl in front of her, “you dumped Finn?”

“And now you’re dating Wick?” Clarke added, incredulous. 

“Both events occurring-”

“Within the space of 3 days?” Clarke finished Octavia’s sentence, both of them staring at Raven, who was lying width-ways across Clarke’s double bed, belly-up and chucking a tennis ball lazily up at the ceiling, before catching it and beginning again. At these questions, she shrugged her shoulders dismissively, earning a slap on the thigh from Octavia, whose head was resting on Raven’s stomach, her legs dangling off the foot of the bed. 

“Ow!” she said, sticking her tongue out at the younger Blake, getting a middle finger in reply.

“E-x-p-l-a-i-n,” Clarke interrupted, emphasising every letter of the word so that it couldn’t be misinterpreted. She was lying parallel to Raven on her stomach at the head of the bed, her legs crossed and bouncing in the air, resting on her elbows as she flicked aimlessly through the latest issue of COSMO, brought over by Octavia for their impromptu sleepover. It hard hardly been a surprise to the blonde when she’d opened her front door two hours ago to find her two best friends on her doorstep, wearing their pyjamas, armed with bundles of blankets, bags of sweets and an endless supply of make-you-wanna-cut-out-your-kidney-with-a-butter-knife romcoms.

Luckily, Kane had taken Abby away on some pre-New Year’s trip, and Ivy was staying at a friend’s house (not really by choice after she was practically pushed out the door by her older sister who was desperate for the chance to have a bath and cry in peace).  Letting the girls in meant no bath, but she was glad to have the company. It was bad enough that she missed Bellamy every second of the day. In the darkness of night, however, she could practically hear her heart cracking on a loop.

She hadn’t really spoke to either of the two girls since Christmas Eve, having left the Blake’s house almost immediately after Bellamy in floods of tears, mumbling incoherent nonsense and wishing everyone a “very merry Christmas!” through a pained smile. She had almost pushed past everyone to get to the door, before she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by a small girl with tears on her cheeks. “You’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had,” was all the brunette had said, before handing Clarke a gift bag and letting her run past her, into the snow.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 It had taken Clarke a whole day to pluck up the courage to open that bag. She had excused herself from the dining room table, where her mother, Kane, Ivy and herself had small-talked their way through a professionally cooked Christmas diner. Clarke thought the gravy tasted like ass. Her father used to make the best gravy. Once upstairs and out-of-sight, she’d pulled back her curled hair into a ponytail, and stripped herself of the pale blue A-line dress she had received as a gift from her mother earlier that same morning. The tag attached to it read ‘Merry Christmas! Wear this tonight, be on time and on your best behaviour. Love, Abby.’ The first thing the blonde thought of when she read the message was the grey chairs in the waiting room. Clinical. Cold. Unforgiving.

Having clambered into a pair of grey sweats and a t-shirt (that may have been Bellamy’s (he smelled like heaven (sue her))) she had rummaged around in the bottom of her closet, trying to locate the small golden bag from where she had chucked it with the rest of her clothes the night before. Having found it, she placed it gingerly on the foot of her bed, moving to plug her phone into her speaker so she could play some Christmas music.

It would’ve been around this hour of the evening, after they’d inhaled the contents of their plates, that the Griffin’s would all sit round the fire, full-up and mind-numbingly happy, whilst Clarke’s father played an assortment of Christmas songs on the piano in the corner of the room. Clarke remembered the bounce in his foot at the happy ones, and the gleam in her mothers’ eyes at the loving ones, and the laughter in her throat at the ‘everybody-sing-along!’ ones. But most of all she remembered the silence in the room at the final one. It was almost ironic really. How, every Christmas evening, without fail, from her first until his last, Jake Griffin had played “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, his smoky voice, warm with whiskey, sending the entire room into a semi-slumber.

It was with this in mind that she removed that last song from her ‘Christmas’ playlist, dropping down onto her bed in defeat. For almost 15 minutes, she had simply stared at the package that stood, seemingly innocent, atop her blankets, too afraid of what she might find.

“For fucks sake Clarke, pull it together,” she had muttered angrily to herself, yanking the bag by its string towards her. Tentatively, she looked for a tag on the outside of the bag, catching it between her thumb and her forefinger from where it was dangling from a ribbon. Inhaling deeply, she read the message, alone, in the solitude of her room.

_To the PRINCESS_

_We loooooooovvvveeeeee yoooooouuuuuuuu ;)_

_(Bellamy especially)_

_From your favourites, the Blakes x o x o_

_P.S. Octavia wrote this note. I’m not denying the contents of it. But she wrote it._

_Merry Christmas, Princess xxx_

 

An unfamiliar noise had ripped out of her, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. On one hand, she found it amusing how much the handwriting of her gift-givers represented them as characters. Octavia’s was loose with a touch of elegance, whilst Bellamy’s was simple, bold. It made a statement. Just like him. Which was what forced a sob out of her throat. Him. Ever since he’d walked away from her, it was like this terrible pain had overpowered her. Every second was more unbearable than the last.

Taking a look inside, she pursed her lips when she discovered approximately 17 sheets of tissue paper lined the top of the bag, hiding its contents from her. Shaking her head, she removed the paper, before delving her hand inside. Almost immediately she came into contact with something solid, and rectangular, and smooth in the middle. Pulling it out she let out a gasp of horror, and then a laugh. It was a picture frame, in an almost criminal shade of bright yellow, holding in it a picture of Clarke and Octavia on the first night they’d officially met. They were in the backseat of a car, Clarke’s face pressed up against the window, eyes closed with her nose scrunched up in obvious discomfort. Next to her, sat Octavia, grasping on desperately to a bucket she held on her lap with two clammy hands. Bellamy had obviously taken it once he’d got them both in the car the night of the party. At the bottom of the frame, in an assortment of equally bright colours, read the words “The Best of Times!”. It was tacky, and it was ugly, but at the same time, it was one of the best gifts Clarke had ever received, and she could practically feel the love bouncing off the shiny yellow paint.

Setting it down on her bedside table, next to a picture of her father, she returned to the bag, reaching inside once again. The pads of her fingers blindly mapped the contours of a softer material. It was solid, but felt padded, and, from what she could tell, was rectangular. In the part of the brain where all the impulses that keep you alive are released, Clarke felt a coldness. Numbly, she brought the box out of the darkness of the bag, and into the light of her room. Biting her lip, she withheld a sob, clasping the box in her palm, remembering how Bellamy had kissed the same one with such adoration only 24 hours ago. Fleeting was the question of how she’d forgotten about the box. That much was obvious. She’d been too busy being heartbroken. Concentrating now on the object in her hand, the blonde felt her fingers contract around the thin, cream box, the golden bow on top crinkling under her bones. Suddenly, she felt the muscles in her legs move, making her stand before her conscious mind could catch up. It was too busy trying to filter through the millions of questions tearing through her brain.

Does she open it?

Does she burn it?

What is it?

When did he get it?

Why did he give her it?

Is it important?

Does she deserve it?

“Oh for fuck sakes Clarke,” she muttered, angrily to herself, before tearing off the lid with abandon.

Then… nothing.

There was no sudden, instantaneous reaction, like there is with potassium and water. No flames, no loud bangs or flashes. Seconds passed, and she sat, frozen, staring at the contents of the mystery present.

And then she put the lid back on, her eyes wide open but not seeing.

So she closed them, sinking back down onto the bed and taking deep breaths in an attempt to steady her rapidly beating heart. Having got rid of the sudden overwhelming feeling to faint, she removed the lid for a second time. This time, timidly. Dropping the lid onto the bed sheets, she gingerly removed the contents of the box with her thumb and index finger, before discarding the box altogether. Cradling the gift in the palm of her slightly shaking hand, the potassium and the water suddenly reacted within her.

She was unsure of what to do at first. There was a part of her that wanted to laugh. To laugh at the boy who knew her too well. Part of her wanted to run to him, in that moment. To hug him, and thank him for ever caring. A hidden part of her wanted to throw the gift at the wall with every single ounce of strength she possessed, just to hear the sound of something other than her heart, break. But the part that overcame her, was the part of her that wanted to cry. To cry for everything she’d ever lost. To cry for Bellamy, and her mother. For Ivy, and her poor, dead father. For Octavia, and Raven and Wells and anybody else who had ever had the misfortune of caring about Clarke Griffin.  But, yeah, mostly, she cried for Bellamy.

Since her dad’s death, Clarke’s life had been partly empty. In the years she’d grown up beside her father, she’d poured more of her love into him every day. And then he was gone. And it was too late when she realised, she’d left pieces of herself in him. Pieces she never thought she’d get back. Until Bellamy Blake. He had strolled into her life with the same bounce in his step as her dad once had. She had hated that stupid smug smirk he always had on his face. And every time he’d step into the gym hall during her practice, she’d felt the urge to punch him in his damn beautiful face. And then she’d let him in. Which was stupid, stupid, stupid. Because now look where she was!

 Caring for something always ended in pain.

But loving something, someone? That was pure absurdity. Why give your heart to something that life could break? That death could touch?

Despite this, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She couldn’t just stop… loving him. To do so would be to say goodbye to this whole new person she’d become. The person who went out to Disney land and went on rides and had cotton-candy-eating contests. The girl who smiled because the sun was shining and she’d kissed her boyfriend in front of his teammates. With Bellamy, she had become the person she had always pretended to be to the world. It took loving him to figure out that she was even capable of that. He’d taught her bravery, and kindness, and even trust.

But now that was gone, and Clarke was desperately afraid that her better alter-ego would be too.

The music paused, before starting up again on the first track in the playlist.

Clarke moved to stand in front of the mirror, studying her reflection with glassy eyes. They were blood-shot, and red-rimmed. Her cheeks, puffy and rosy, betrayed her sorrow with the traces of her silent cries. In contrast, her hair was still in perfect form from dinner and her nails were immaculate, painted and shaped. Without breaking her stare, she raised the gift, unclasping the clip and using the mirror to guide her hands to the back of her neck. Goose-bumps broke across her skin at the coolness of the slender, silver chain on her collar-bone. Fumbling slightly with the clasp, she grumbled to herself in frustration, before feeling the hook clip. Dragging her fingers back down the chain, she stopped at the charm which dangled in the middle, twisting it gently, before bringing it up to her lips. After a second or two, she let it drop, feeling it hit her, square in the chest, right over her heart, before bouncing unevenly until it lost momentum.

Sighing deeply as more tears fell beyond her control, she crawled under the covers of her bed, silencing the music and flicking off the lights on her way. Rolling onto her side, one hand under her pillow, she found the other moving sub-consciously, to grasp the small pendant. Tucking her knees up, so she was in the foetal position, Clarke let her eyes drift closed, shutting out the cruel world. Squeezing the gift tightly, the last thing she felt before sleep claimed her, was the outline of the charm imprint onto the soft flesh of her palm.

It was a little silver gymnast, hanging by one foot from the chain, her leg extended in perfect form. Her other foot was almost touching her head as she curved her back over her extended arms, as if she was suspended in a handstand. No larger than a thimble, the figure’s hair was carved into a short pony tail, much like Clarke’s, and she was faceless. However, the leotard she wore, whilst simple in style, was the most important part of the gift. It was also the part of the gift Clarke had wanted to see broken most of all. Simply because it was a pink as the one her father had given her all those years ago.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Clarke? Earth to Griffin?” Raven called loudly from where she lay just down the bed from Clarke. The blonde snapped her head up from where she’d been aimlessly staring at the magazine clasped in her hand, recalling the events of the previous nights.

“Um, yeah, sorry, yeah, I’m listening,” she fumbled, roughly shutting the glossy cover of COSMO and dropping it off the edge of the bed. Rolling onto her side so she was facing Raven and Octavia, who were still sprawled out across each other, she gave them a small smile as an indication for them to continue talking.

“Did you hear what I said? About the whole… Finn and Wick thing?” Raven asked, her voice uncharacteristically timid. Octavia was also silent, and it didn’t escape Clarke’s notice that the youngest Blake had suddenly become incapable of looking her in the eye. She quickly tried to remember any parts of the conversation that had taken place before she’d zoned out, but came up short.

“I’m sorry-” she started, casting her eyes down, before she felt a warm hand resting on her own. It was tanned, and whilst the nails were French-manicured, they held traces of oil under them.

“I’m sorry too,” said Raven, her voice soft with melancholy for her friend. Clarke didn’t bother to look up, just nodded. There was a brief spell of contemplative sadness in the air, until Octavia broke it.

“Sooo, New Years?” she chirped excitedly. Both Raven and Clarke groaned.

“Oh come on! You’re my first real friends and I’ve never really… done anything like this before. So… we have to do something!” exclaimed the youngest of the three friends, despair in her voice at the thought of yet another New Years’ being spent at home. The older girls exchanged a look, smiling slightly at Octavia’s admission.

“Oh, you should not have said that,” Raven purred, speaking slowly and clearly, her and Clarke sharing the same shit eating grin. Octavia’s own smile faltered a little.

“Why?” she asked, nervously, “what have you got planned?” Instead of answering, the two girls continued to stare at each other, conversing telepathically in a way only best friends can.

“Monty?” Clarke asked aloud, just to be sure they were on the same page.

“Monty.” Raven clarified, smirking in a way that made Octavia regret ever opening her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA not much Bellarke of course, but don't worry, i will make this pain worth your while ;)  
> I hope that I have done the start of this long road to Bellamy's redemption justice!!


	18. A bit of extra Christmas weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY BABES   
> REMEMBER ME   
> REMEMBER THIS STORY   
> REMEMBER THE FEEELLSSSS??  
> No?  
> Welllll here is a reminder   
> xoxo

Chapter 18 

Clarke starts the last day of the year with a growl, as her phone rings from the other side of her bedroom, where she charges it every night. Which is inconvenient as she was currently in her bed, hoping to sleep through the day until an hour before the party, where she’d throw on a dress and a smile, each as fake as the other.

Throwing back the cover with practised ease, she swung her legs out the bed dramatically, dragging her unwilling body with them. By the time she got to the phone, it had stopped ringing, which forced a sigh out of her. Clicking the home button, she first checked the time, noting with a groan that it was just before 8am… on a damn Saturday. This, however, did give her a clue as to who the caller was. In fact, there were only two people in Clarke’s contacts who were happy to see the outside of their bedrooms at this time, but since she hadn’t heard a thing from one of them in a few days, she knew there was only one other person it could be.

The Blake siblings had a routine that they keep to like the moon does the Earth. Wake up, breakfast, run around the block, chores, school, work, study, free time, chores, dinner, bed and repeat. Since Christmas Eve, Clarke had been made blatantly aware that Octavia was not talking to her brother, but she also knew that this simply meant she took a different running route, which she was sure broke Bellamy’s heart.

And she definitely feels nothing about that.

It’s just tough.

He broke hers.

It’s no more than he deserves.

(She tries to believe that, she really does.)

(But she’s never been very good at lying to herself.)

Beside the point, the only person, therefore, who could be ringing her at this time would have to be Octavia. A brief glance at her call history confirms her theory. Rolling her eyes in a mixture of fondness and annoyance, Clarke dialled the familiar number.

“ALAS! The blondie lives,” came Octavia’s chirpy voice, its clarity suggesting she’d been awake for some time.

“This _blondie_ is about to murder a certain brunette for waking her,” Clarke murmured, good naturedly.

“Oh shush, you love me! Besides, an early morning makes for a-“

“For a day well spent, I know, I know,” Clarke drawled with another roll of her eyes.

“You can quote me now?” Octavia responded with a light laugh.

“You’re not the only Blake I’ve hung with, you know,” she replied, without even thinking, her brain still clouded by sleep. The helpless silence on the other end of the phone somewhat cleared the mist, however.

“Clarke I’m so-“

“Sorry. I know. Everybody is always sorry,” Clarke interrupted her friend’s soft reply with a sharp tone, having heard the same apology over and over again. She was again met with silence. Walking across her room after unplugging her phone, she perched on the bed and, after a minute or two, she spoke again, calmer this time.

“I’m sorry O, I know you’re just trying to help… I just-“

“I know. I do.”

More silence.

“Clarke… you know we’re always here for you, right? I know you don’t want to talk about what… well… about what was said on Christmas Eve, but maybe if you-“

“No Octavia,” she cut in, not bothering to conceal her anger, “We’ve been through this. Nobody is telling anybody anything. There is nothing to tell. It’s all a misunderstanding, that’s all. Bellamy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” She spoke firmly, with what she hoped sounded like conviction.

“A misunderstanding?” Octavia’s voice sounded small, and Clarke was reminded once again of Ivy.

“Yes O,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead roughly in frustration, “a misunderstanding.”

“Clarke,” there was a change in the younger girl’s voice now, a tone that was unfamiliar to the blonde, “I know.”

Clarke had to swallow her heart as it jumped to the back of her throat.

“Kn-kn-know?” she stuttered, unintelligibly.

“Yeah, I know… everything.”

Her confession was again, met with silence. Then a meek voice floated through the phone.

“How did you…” Clarke trailed off.

“How did I know?” the brunette queried. Clarke gulped. Octavia sighed.

“Clarke… I was going to say something… after Christmas but… you didn’t say anything so I didn’t know if you remembered that he said it, I mean, a lot was said so-“

“Octavia,” Clarke gritted out through her grinding teeth.

“It was me,” Octavia rushed out in one breath. On the other end of the line, in the isolation of her bedroom, Clarke held hers. Upon hearing no immediate reply, the youngest Blake continued.

“Ivy goes to that kids club that Lincoln runs and she was upset about an older sister, and I didn’t make the connection at first, but then it just clicked and...”

“And you know,” Clarke finished for her, in a whisper, as if it was a sentence that would be best left unsaid, yet had to be spoken.

“And I know,” Octavia repeated, her voice solemn and apologetic.

Clarke stared at the wall in front of her, the only muscles that were contracting in her body being the hand with which she grasped the phone. The rest of her was limp. She’d been pretending this entire time to someone who already knew. She thought she should be mad, she’d been betrayed again after all. Yet, she just didn’t think she had it in her to lose two Blakes. Losing one had left a big enough hole in her heart.

“Clarke, I’m so-“

“Sorry? Yeah, you said that already,” Clarke snapped venomously. There was an excruciating silence. Clarke was certain she could hear Octavia sniffling, and could picture the puppy eyes she’d most definitely be sporting right now. Clarke knew they drove Bellamy insane, he used to complain about them all the time, how his younger sister would just flash her big brown eyes at him, and he’d be but putty in her hands. At the time, his girlfriend would’ve just kissed his cheek to see him smile, telling him that he had such a big heart. Inside, however, she would be laughing, as she knew for sure that her boyfriend was _always_ putty in his sister’s hands. She wasn’t laughing now. Damn Octavia and her stupid puppy eyes.

“Hey, O?” she fought to keep her voice gentle, determined to heal the wound she just struck.

“Er,” the sound of her clearing her throat hurriedly travelled down the phone, betraying her nervousness, “yeah?”

“Remember that party? The night with Atom and the burnt bacon?”

“Um, yeah?” 

“What were you going to ask me? You know, before the fire alarm went off?” Clarke waited with baited breath, as she had not yet forgotten the vulnerability in the eye of her friend that morning.

“Well…” a pause. Clarke once again found herself holding her breath, “I was going to- well, I was going to ask if,” a strangled laugh, “well, if you liked him. Bellamy, I mean.”

“Oh!” the blonde replied, her voice light and full of surprise.

“Yeah,” Octavia breathed out a laugh, “there was just, I don’t know, something about you two that night. You confirmed my theory that morning, you know, when you were standing, half naked, on a chair in my kitchen?”

Clarke groaned. “God, O! Do you have to remind me?”

“Hahaha! Okay, okay! Anyway, I totally knew you guys had the hots for each other then. The way he looked at you… well, I’d never seen my brother look at any girl like that before. And there had been a _lot_ of girls aaaaaaaannnnnnndddddd I cannot believe I just said that!” Clarke couldn’t help but laugh at the smacking sound that came through her phone, as if her friend had quite literally thrown her head in her hands.

“It’s fine! It’s not like I was oblivious or anything.”

“Yeah, I guess.” The brunette sighed.

“Did he- did he ever say anything about me? You know, before we started dating?”

“Not really.” Clarke could practically feel the girl shrug from her room. “He didn’t talk much about his love life. He never really _had_ a love life until you,” she snorted. “He was always the best at keeping secrets anyway.”

“Tell me about it,” Clarke chortled, before she could think about who she was talking to.

“He’s not the only one.” 

More heavy silence.

Clarke sighed, “O, I’ve told you, I can’t-“

“You can’t talk. Yeah. We heard you. We’ve all heard you.” In the solidarity of her bedroom, Clarke outwardly winced at her friend’s words.  “But babe, you’re not hearing us. We love you. We love you so much. Me and Raven, Monty, Miller, Jasper, Lincoln… we love you! You are loved, and you are beautiful, and you are forgiven, and you are not alone. So, honestly… I don’t give a shit about what anybody else has to say because you are loved by so many… but no one more than Bellamy.”

“Octavia,” the older girl breathed out, still clutching the phone to her ear with both hands. A tear or two had leaked from her eye, dropping off the cliff of her cheekbones, and onto her bed. The other girl continued, her voice strong and unwavering in the surety of her words.

“No Clarke, he does. What he did was out of line. I know that,” Octavia exhaled for a beat, before continuing, “and he knows it too. He asked me to tell you something- to read you this letter, and, even though I am not technically speaking to him out of my love for you,” –a laugh bubbled out of the sadness lodged in Clarke’s throat- “I told him I would deliver this message so, here goes nothing.”

There was a rustling of paper, and the sound of limbs being rearranged. _Shit,_ Clarke thought, _shit shit shit shit shit._

“Okay so- ‘Dear Princess,’” _shit shit shit shit shit,_ “‘I understand that I have probably lost the right to call you that now, after what I did to you on Christmas Eve. I had no right, absolutely none, to have ever-‘“

The harsh slam of front door from the hallway below startled Clarke in such a way that she was on her feet within milliseconds, still clutching the phone but moving it slightly away from her ear in order to listen out for any sounds downstairs. Her mother and Kane weren’t due back for another two days, and Ivy had extended her stay at her friend’s house in order to finish their marathon of Pretty Little Liars.

Heart pounding rapidly against her ribs, she inched towards the door, barely daring to breathe, and reached slowly for the handle. The second her fingers came into contact with the smooth, cold brass, the grand wooden staircase beyond the door creaked suspiciously. Eyes wide, Clarke gripped the handle more firmly, gulping fear far down into her stomach, where it turned her insides to ice.

A short argument then proceeded to take place in her mind. Did she open the door? Did she say hello? Who could this be?

Clarke had always hated the movie Taken.

Now she was starring in it.

Coming to a decision as another stair groaned, she counted to ten, slowly, in her head, determined to be ready to face the intruder.

 Five....six….seven

She adjusted her grip on the phone as an afterthought, as if it could be wielded as a weapon if need be.

Nine….ten!

Grimacing, Clarke moved to open the door cautiously, just as the person on the other side decided to push it open rather rashly, almost hitting Clarke in the face with it. Screaming in shock, Clarke raised her arm as if to threaten the intruder, who, bizarrely, was also screaming… wait? What?

“Ivy!” Clarke exclaimed, angrily, as she recognised the ‘intruder’, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh my God Clarke! You scared me half to death!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one sneaking into the house!”

“It’s hardly sneaking when it’s your own house.” Ivy flashed her a smug smile.

“Why are you here, Ivy?” Clarke repeated, the anger and fear in her veins dissolving into relief that made her limbs feel like jelly.

“I came to grab some more clothes and freshen up, Mrs S dropped me her on the way to the gym. She’s going to pick me back up when she’s done so, don’t worry about giving me a lift.” As she spoke, Ivy had begun to walk away from Clarke, down the hall to her bedroom, removing her top as she went.

“Wasn’t planning on it!” Clarke remarked, feeling a stab of jealousy as she was given a glimpse of the creamy white skin of her sisters back. It was untouched, untarnished. She was still beautiful. Unlike Clarke. Shaking her head angrily, the eldest sister went to move back into her room when she thought of something.

“Why were you coming into my room?” she called.

Silence.

“Ivy,” Clarke growled.

Her sister’s head popped out almost horizontally from her doorframe, gravity pulling her long blonde waves to the floor. And then Ivy, usually so quick to retaliate, simply flashed her a sheepish grin.

“I know about the popcorn stash in your sock drawer.”

“You little shit.”

“It’s not like you need it Clarke… is that a bit of extra Christmas weight I see?” the youngest Griffin grinned cheekily, sending her sister a playful wink before stepping out into the hallway to throw a pair of balled up socks at her, which hit Clarke square in the face.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Ivy’s loud bark of laughter, which echoed around the whole house, and wrapped itself around Clarke’s heart. Unable to stop a smile breaking out on her own face, Clarke picked the socks up off the floor, and launched them back at her sister, narrowly missing.

“Oh it’s so on,” she said, shutting her door just in time as the sock-ball slammed into the wood, right where her head had been. She heard a muffled shriek of laughter, and the sound of drawers being opened, which could only mean her sister was arming herself.

Walking over to her own chest-of-drawers, Clarke couldn’t stop smiling, as she pulled open her underwear drawer. As she did, she could’ve sworn she heard a far-away voice, calling her name. Glancing around her room in confusion, she tried to locate the sound. It wasn’t until she began to turn on the spot as if to spot someone hiding in there with her that she happened upon her reflection in the mirror: a perfect image of her holding a phone in her left hand.

“Oh shit!” she cursed aloud, apologies already spewing out of her before the phone was near her face.

“There you are! I feared you might have fainted, and then I heard screaming,” Octavia was speaking rather fast, her breath hitched and her voice squeaky, “and then I thought I’d best come over and see if you were alright! I thought- well I- I almost got Bellamy!”

“Octavia I’m alright!” she interrupted kindly, “Ivy’s home is all.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay then! As long as you’re alright!”

“Yes, I am,” Clarke spoke the words with more conviction than she’d had in the past week or so as she stared back at her reflection, who still wore Ivy’s infectious grin.

“Shall I- shall I continue reading or?” Octavia spoke, hesitantly.

“Well, O,” Clarke began, her mind suddenly filling up with dread. She really didn’t want to do this now, but she couldn’t think of an excuse to get her out of it. The answer came to her in the form of another sock-ball to the stomach, courtesy of a cackling Ivy, who stood in the doorway, more than a dozen sock-balls protruding suspiciously from underneath her fresh t-shirt.

“Actually, O,” she began, a smirk finding its way to her face, as she blindly reached into her underwear drawer, grabbing the first sock-ball she came into contact with and launching it at her sister, who again, dodged it, and stuck out her tongue for good measure.

“Ivy isn’t very well.”

“Oh!” came Octavia’s sound of surprise. Whatever she was expecting to hear, Clarke was sure it wasn’t that.

“Yeah she’s… got a sore throat, and a headache,” Clarke said, just as she managed to leap out of the way of a sock-ball, and returning a shot that made contact with her sisters’ upper arm, “probably just one of these winter-flu things!”

“Okay, well, I hope she feels better soon.” Clarke felt a pang of guilt at the sound of her friend’s well wishes, but was too busy re-arming herself to think much into it.

“Thanks O, I’ll let her know you’re thinking of her.”

“Okay! Oh, Clarke! Will you still be coming tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah of course! You’re not getting out of it that easily Miss Blake.” Another sock-ball hit her in the knee, followed by another to her chest. The groan that floated down the phone only increased her happiness, as she thought of Monty’s last New Year’s Eve party.

“That’s right Octavia, shit is about to hit the fan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH ME   
> i know this wasn't exactly a bellarke centric chapter, but this is the first step of a long ass road to paradise   
> love yaas  
> Have a great day/ night :)


	19. "Shit hits the fan" Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY  
> it's me   
> I'm back   
> try and contain your enthusiasm!!!!  
> BTW CAN WE JUST!!!!!!!!!! BELLAMY AND CLARKE ARE!!!!!!!!! BASICALLY MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> as soon as those hoods came off she was like "oh boy"   
> if Roan had asked her in that moment who the other prisoner was, she would've been like "idk??? who??? who the fuck is kane????? i only see bellamy. my totALLY pLAtONiC frIend!!!!! Bellamy.... Aka the love OF MY LIFE pleASE DON'T KILL HIM" 
> 
> Lmao  
> anyway SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THIS CHAPTER BUT  
> i just want to say, that i would have totally loved to have raven kick ass by herself, but it is kinda essential to the plotline that she is pissed af therefore has to be rescued 
> 
> ******************************* TRIGGERS OF VIOLENCE AND MORE DEGRADING GROSS KINDA SEXUAL ASSAULT I'M SORRY PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES!!!! ********************************

Chapter 19

And shit did, in fact, hit the fan. At high speed… several times.

The reason for this being due to numerous events, all happening to different people, at the same time.

The outcome of these events (and the climax of the ‘shit hitting the fan’) does (of course) leave Clarke, Bellamy, Raven, Finn, Wick, Lincoln, Monty, Miller and Jasper, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in silence, in the waiting room of the local ER at 3am.

Clarke, sat nearest the door that separated the waiting room from the ward, was gripping her clinical grey chair with such ferocity that her hands were beginning to cramp. Next to her, rather shockingly, was Bellamy, his eyes closed in exhaustion, head leaning against the cold, hard, brick wall. Next to him was Raven, her head in a bucket. Then came, Wick, who- in between nursing his knuckles with an ice-pack- kept directing dangerous glares towards the boy sitting opposite him, Finn, who had a bloody cloth jammed around his nose. Next to Finn, sat Lincoln, who was holding a petite pair of hot pink, 6 inch heels in his large hands. Opposite Clarke and Bellamy sat Monty, who was leaning his head against Miller’s shoulder, which would’ve been romantic… if they weren’t in a hospital… and if Jasper wasn’t leaning on Miller’s other shoulder.

Happy fucking New Year, right?

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

**10:13pm – Raven**

Welcoming the burn of vodka as it dripped down her throat, Raven tossed back another shot (her fourth since arriving an hour ago) and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. Shaking out her long brown hair, she swayed to the rhythm of the music, uncaring about what she looked like, or who surrounded her in the crowd. All that mattered was the music. And the vodka. Definitely the vodka.

Having got ready at Clarkes’ along with Octavia, Raven had been tipsy before she’d even stepped into Monty’s house- courtesy of Mrs Griffins’ alcohol cupboard. Unbeknown to her friends, she had been rather nervous about coming to the party. It would be the official first time she’d seen Finn since they broke up, and she knew first-hand what an ass he could be when he was drunk. But never one to pass up a party, and wanting to take Clarkes’ mind off a certain tall, dark and handsome, Raven had decided to do what she does best: get ass-over-tits drunk and hope for the damn best.

Which is what lead her to downing three flutes of champagne in less than a minute. Not her best call. Feeling nausea creep up into her throat, the brunette forced her way through the mindlessly-swaying crowd that filled the living room and found herself in a slightly less crowded entrance hall. Stumbling slightly in her black stilettos, she made her way to the front door, aggressively pushing aside a couple that was making out against it. Shutting it behind her, she flung herself towards the edge of the veranda, just in time to feel her stomach lurch. She threw up all over Monty’s’ Mums’ petunias.

Groaning, she gripped the chipped white bannister until her fingertips went numb, rocking minutely backwards and forwards. Feeling slightly better, she raised her head from where it had been hanging, only to see a group of plastic-looking girls visibly snickering at her. Giving them her best bitch-face, along with the finger, she felt satisfaction rise up in her throat. Oh wait, no… that was puke.

Just as she leant over the bannister again, her stomach heaving, she heard a voice that made her gag even harder.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that!” Finn slurred arrogantly. The group of unfamiliar boys that accompanied him laughed loudly at his words. Their rowdiness made Ravens’ head spin.  “You having fun there, babe?”

“Fuck off,” Raven spat, quite literally, as she attempted to get the taste of vomit out of her mouth.

“Hey now, no need to be like that,” Finn stumbled towards her, every bit as drunk as she was, “we can still be friends! Or maybe,” he was behind her now, closer than she felt was comfortable, “maybe, we can be more again. I’ll forgive you, Rave, I’ll take you back.” As he spoke, the hand not holding a beer began to dance up her leg, each touch growing more and more firm, until he was all but squeezing her ass.

“Hey!” she snapped, turning around so that his hand dropped uselessly to his side. Her head swam slightly with the motion, and the outline of her ex-boyfriend began to blur.

“Come on babe,” he mumbled, his hazy silhouette inching closer to her. Shaking her head to clear her vision, Raven took a step back, feeling the rounded wood of the bannister pressing against the small of her back, a physical reminder that she had nowhere to run. Seeming to realise this at the same time she did, Finn advanced further, goaded on by his gangs’ laughter.

The closer he got to her, however, the less Raven was able to see him. She felt his clammy hand on her hips before she even saw him raise it from his side again. For a moment, she felt a tug in her heart, as if it was programmed to leap out of her chest every time her first love came into view. But then he was pulling her towards him, and she was helplessly stumbling into his chest, and his friends were laughing, and there was a darkness eating away at the edges of her vision. Her knees began to buckle, and even though Finn was the only thing now keeping her on her feet, she feebly tried to push him away, her quivering hands placed flat on his chest, keeping an inadequate barrier between them.

“No Finn,” she tried to shout, but her voice was pathetic in her own ears, which were now overwhelmed by the hoots and cackles of the omnipresent group of boys who seemed to loom before her.

“It’s okay, Rave,” a voice said.

Narrowing her eyes to try and focus her waning vision, Raven tried to suss where the voice came from. It was comforting and warm, like the smell of fresh cut grass on a summer’s day. Not the voice of the boy before her. Belatedly, she became aware that her back was no longer being supported by the wooden bannister, but by a strong arm, wound tightly round her middle. Staring down at it in disbelief, her brain, heavily fogged by the fumes of smoke and alcohol, tried to match the skin tone- a golden brown- to a person.

The voices around her became louder and louder, but sounded distant somehow, like she’d put her head under the water in a bath. She didn’t remember getting a bath? Regardless, her head began to pound with the noise, and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. The last thing she heard, before the darkness eating away at the edges of her vision took over, was a loud cracking sound, like a piece of wood being split apart, followed by a howl of pain.

Then there was nothing.

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**10:15pm – Clarke**

Shoving her way through another throng of wasted teens, Clarke found herself back in the entrance hall, where she’d started her search. Sighing loudly, she briefly explored the faces of the few people milling about the room, once again coming up empty handed. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she stomped her heel once on the wooden planks of the hall floor, before making her way into the kitchen. It had been at least an hour since she’d seen either Raven or Octavia! Where were they? It was New Years’ Eve for Christ sakes! And it wasn’t as if she’d particularly _wanted_ to come to this party. In fact, now that she had everything to fear, it was one of the last places on earth she actually wanted to be. But it was imperative that she keep up appearances, now more than ever.  

You see, Clarke was lucky, (if lucky was the right word to use), that her friends had kept the information that had been shared unceremoniously on Christmas Eve to themselves. Not that she thought they would tell anyone… but her trust had been breached before. And by the person she least expected to ever breach it!

Her heart clenched at the thought of her bittersweet love for him. There was not a word in any language, past or present, which could describe the way she felt about Bellamy Blake at this moment, as she shoved her way through throngs of swaying teens. In fact, it could be said that, in the past week, she had experienced every emotion you could ever feel towards a person. It was all very confusing! She didn’t need the added stress of wondering where this whole situation left her with her friends!

Having been forced to talk things out with the girls after the awkward (and frankly mortifying) phone call with Octavia, Clarke had been almost relieved by their discomfort with the topic, as it reassured her that neither Raven nor Octavia were likely to discuss her secret between themselves, or to other people- the latter issue being her main concern. Surely, the only thing worse than having your struggles with domestic abuse exposed to your closest friends by your _boyfriend,_ would be the entire Junior year finding out. So many years of Clarke’s life had so far been dedicated to keeping the secret of her double life just that, a secret. It would be a tragedy of catastrophic proportions if all her hard work was undone by some meathead, saying too much in front of a teacher, who would undoubtedly be on the phone to social services before said meathead could say ‘steroids’.

Regardless, Clarke had swallowed her pride and all but begged Raven and Octavia not to mention what they had discovered to anyone, _ever._ This desperate plea by the blonde was met by more pity (cue the retching) and solemn promises of silence, along with a tender offer of a ‘shoulder to cry on’ from the youngest Blake. All Raven could manage in her uneasiness was a weak smile and a soft embrace. Still, their gestures warmed Clarke’s heart considerably, and was what ultimately gave her the courage to call-up the rest of the disaster-dinner-party-attendees, and implore them to keep quiet as well. All of them had pledged their silence to her (even Finn!), for which she was grateful, but it didn’t stop the gnawing sense of unease in her stomach from intensifying the second she’d become part of the rhythm of this party.

Every whispered conversation was her secret being shared, every passing look in her direction was her scars being seen through the thin fabric of her dress. She feared everyone now. And this, was what was perhaps the hardest thing to forgive Bellamy for. Clarke had grown accustomed to being afraid in the confines of her own home, but when she was at school? Out with her friends? Practising in the gym? She was free from such constraints. She had nothing to fear.

Until now.

Now, she had everything to fear.

Because of him.

Another heart clench, and she was stopped in her tracks. Not by the thought of Bellamy, however, but by the sight of Finn and his friends making their way towards the front door, bringing him straight towards where she was currently standing. With Finn being a definite second on her ‘list of people I want to see the least’, the blonde looked around desperately for an exit.

Seeing a door to her right, she grabbed for the handle before her slightly tipsy brain could tell her that it was a closet. The familiar drawl of Finn’s voice coming ever closer alerted her to the lack time and choices available, forcing her to shut the closet door behind her, submerging her in darkness. The door muffled the tune of the music slightly, but the bass still vibrated through it, stirring her blood in a steady rhythm.  Taking a deep breath, she stuck her hand down her bra, pulling out her phone from the left cup. Wiping off the thin layer of sweat that had settled on the screen, she pressed the lock button, shielding her eyes from the blinding light that illuminated the gloomy closet.

Once her eyes had adjusted, she turned the phone away from her, in the hopes that the glare of her home screen might light up the tiny space enough for her to relocate the handle of the door. What she found, however, had her already-full-bladder nearly losing all control right there in the closet.

 Screaming instinctively, she slapped the pale face that had come looming out the darkness, realising, rather belatedly, that it was a face she recognised.

“Jasper!” she hissed, her fear quickly becoming anger, “what the fuck are you doing! You almost killed me!”

“Okay, well firstly, OW!” the boy said, clutching the cheek where she’d struck him with a startled look on his face. Clarke merely raised her eyebrows, a gesture that all-too-clearly said “ _you deserved that.”_

“Secondly,” Jasper continued, unhappy with her lack of sympathy, “I was here first, so actually, you nearly killed me when you came charging in here! What are you doing? Who are you hiding from?” He asked the latter question in a rather teasing tone, his intonation rising in a childlike manner that was the very essence of Jasper Jordan. You could really love to hate him sometimes.

“None of your business,” she snapped, her heart still not having returned to its normal rhythm after the sudden appearance of her friend. Jasper merely smiled knowingly, the white light of her phone giving his already insipid complexion an eerie glow.

“Who are you hiding from?” she barked at him again, further irked by his grin.

“A girl,” he said, the disbelief of the statement clear in his own bulging eyes. The smile on his face didn’t contribute to this idea, however, Clarke observed, as surely he wouldn’t be happy to be hiding from someone? She certainly wasn’t.

Maybe it was the weed that was making him smile. When it came to Jasper, you could never be sure.

“What girl? Why are you hiding from her?” He shrugged his shoulders carelessly in the compact space of the closet, almost knocking a row of books off a nearby shelf.

“Her name’s Bethany something, you probably haven’t heard of her,” he suggested, when he saw Clarke beginning to frown. She hushed him, though, when he began to talk again, using her phone light to guide herself back towards the door. Feeling the warmth of Jasper’s body moving with her, she pressed her ear against the door. He did the same.

“What are we listening for?” he whispered, voice suddenly lowered in the intensity of the moment. Clarke didn’t reply. There it was again! The unmistakeable sound of raised voices. There was a sudden commotion happening in the entrance hall. Like the music, the sounds had been subdued slightly by the closet door, but to someone like Clarke, who had spent years training her ears to listen out for the sound of heavy-footfalls, shouting, cursing or the like, the noises were as vibrant as birdsong at dawn.

“Something’s happening out there,” she whispered back. She felt Jasper’s hand brush past her leg on the way to the door handle. “Wait!” she cried, the phone screen automatically going to sleep, plunging them in darkness once more.

“What?” Jasper huffed, from somewhere to her right.

“What if it’s-“ _Bellamy!_ She didn’t finish the sentence. The last thing Clarke needed right now was sympathy from a high Jasper, but she sensed he was already catching on to her hesitancy. The eldest Blake had been invited to the party, along with some of his friends, and Clarke (among others) had been anxiously anticipating his arrival all night. More muffled scuffs came through the door, but Jasper made no move to open it. She heard him inhale deeply, like a dad about to give his son a lecture on the uses of contraception. _‘Not here!’_ Clarke pleaded internally, _‘not now!”_  

“Clarke-“ Jasper began, in that tone Clarke was beginning to loathe so much. Making a snap decision before her friend could continue, the blonde concluded that she would rather face Bellamy Blake in the flesh, than hear his name said in that God awful way one more time. Like it was going to break her, or something. Like it was the worse swearword to ever have existed, and upon hearing it, she would go full on phsyco, and eat her own elbow.

Pushing the door open rather aggressively in her panic, she was back into the streaming light of the entrance hall before her eyes had left the inky blackness of the closet. Startled, like a deer in the headlights, she felt Jasper bump into her on his way out of their temporary hiding place. Both shielding their eyes from the light, they were helpless to see the scene before them, but they both noticed the hush that fell around the room. Seeming to adjust to the brightness first, Jasper mumbled a defensive “it’s not what it looks like!”. Clarke, still squinting slightly, tried to focus on the large crowd assembled in front of them.

“Oh come on Jordan, nobody was thinking that!  You couldn’t score a thing of beauty like that if you hired her!” one of the airhead jocks called out, unidentifiable in the throng. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Jasper, eyes downcast, face flushed beet-red, as a weak laugh rippled around the room. With her sight finally regained, she focused back onto the mass of teens, in search for the face of the random voice, when her gaze landed upon the now obvious cause of all the commotion. Standing in entrance of the doorway, staring at the pair with the same look of confusion as the rest of the room, was Bellamy, with his arm slung around the waist of a passed-out Raven. Wick was supporting her other side, whilst Miller was keeping a bloodied-up Finn from sinking to the ground. Behind them all, was Murphy, walking backwards into the house, holding the ankles of two unmoving boys in each hand as he dragged them into the party. 

“Holy shit.” Jasper saw them too.

“Holy shit.” Clarke replied.

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**10:05pm – Bellamy**

“I could’ve still been in bed right now, you know,” Bellamy said again into the quiet of his car.

“Yeah, you could’ve, but because we don’t want your Senior Year to suck-“

“And because we’re good friends!” Wick interrupted Miller, poking his head into the space between the two front seats. Pushing him back into his seat with a palm to the face, earning a snort of laughter from Bellamy and Murphy, Miller continued.

“ _And_ because we’re your best and only friends, we didn’t give you the choice to stay in bed for New Years’ Eve.”

“Guess we have different ideas of what ‘best friend’ means,” Bellamy mumbled, taking a left turn onto the street where Monty lived. Despite his grumbling, he flashed his long-time best-friend a smile of gratitude anyway. They were kind of right. This was his Senior Year of High School! Besides, he’d had a life before Clarke Griffin, so he could have a life after her. It would be a significantly shitter life, yes, but a life none-the-less.

“She’ll be here, you know,” the tanned boy said, his hands flexing on the steering wheel, “she’s stubborn that way, won’t want anyone thinking she’s too weak to show.” His voice was soft and absent, as if he was fading back into memories.

“Yeah, she’ll be here Bell,” Miller replied, softly, “but so will like a hundred other people!”

“Yeah,” Murphy chimed in from his position in the back seat, “you might not even see her!” Bellamy knew these words were meant to be comforting, but somehow the prospect of going the night without seeing her was worse than the fear of seeing her for the first time since _that night_.

“Thanks guys,” he said anyway, pulling up alongside the sidewalk, a few doors down from Monty’s house, which was surrounded by cars. Once everybody was out, Bellamy locked the car, checking it was shut by yanking on the handle (sometimes it didn’t actually lock (piece of shit car)), before following his friends on their walk to the party.

The exterior of the house itself was already quite a scene. The bottom set of front windows were illuminated with an array of neon colours from the strobe lights within, and the front door was flung wide open, allowing the penetrating bass of the music to contaminate the cold night air. Despite the cooler temperature, there were numerous people dotted around the garden, all in various states of intoxication. Some were lolling carelessly on the grass, others were making out on the bench beneath the large oak tree. There was a distinct smell of pot that could be traced back to a huddle of people sitting in a circle on the sidewalk itself. Stepping past them on the way up the stone tiles that carved a path in between the two patches of grass that made the front-yard, the four friends were alerted to another group of people. Standing on the veranda of the house was a group of boys, most of them unfamiliar… with the exception of one, who was currently slinking towards a tall brunette in a red dress, who was bent over the bannister.

“What’s Finn doing to that poor girl,” Miller sighed sympathetically, as they made their way closer and closer to the party.

“God knows,” Wick snorted, “maybe we should warn her or something? Because seriously that- SON OF A BITCH!” He yelled suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt in the pathway. Bellamy, Murphy and Miller both stopped with him, realising at the same time, with a sinking feeling in their stomachs, that the brunette was also no stranger to them.

“Raven,” Bellamy breathed out, loud enough for only him and Miller to hear. Wick was already running – with Murphy hot on his heels – towards Finn who was currently being pushed away weakly by the struggling girl.

“Shit!” Miller shouted, chasing after Wick, who was taking the steps up to the veranda two at a time. Bellamy was only seconds behind him, aware of the fact that they were largely out-numbered by the mob of strange boys, who were now face-to-face with a very angry Wick, and an always aggressive Murphy. Not stopping to exchange words, however, and before Miller, Bellamy or even Murphy could stop him, Wick swung his muscled arm back, and drove it into Finn’s nose with such power that it literally raised the smaller boy from the ground, before gravity pulled him crashing down.

Letting out a howl of pain, Finn clutched his face as blood began to stream down his top, splashing onto the shoes of some of his friends. Those few friends then turned and ran, disappearing into the gathering crowd at the entrance of the house. Others didn’t. One swung for Murphy, hitting him square in the gut, winding him slightly, but was then shoved back into his now-smaller group of peers. Another of the boys tried to grab for Murphy’s jacket collar, but was evaded easily. This wasn’t his first fight. Not by a long shot.  So, with a smile on his face, John Murphy happily took each boy on, one-at-a-time, until only two unconscious bodies lay in a heap on the floor. Wiping away the blood from where a right-hook had busted his lip, Murphy smirked as he watched the remainder of the boys flee the premises.

Wick, blinded by rage, didn’t acknowledge any of this happening, and had already stooped down to where Finn was lying, taking two giant handfuls of his shirt into the iron grip of his fists. Jerking him roughly to his feet, he moved in for a second attack, but Miller got there first. Pushing his way between his friend and the now crying boy, he placed a placating hand on Wick’s shoulder, willing the boy to make eye-contact with him. The smaller of the two friends was absolutely sure that, if Wick decided to, he could definitely throw him like a javelin down the veranda steps. He looked out of control enough to do it as well. The veins in his forehead where pulsing wildly, and the fury in his eyes was unmistakeable. Swallowing down his nerves, Miller adjusted his beanie, and cleared his throat.

“That’s enough, Kyle,” he said, his voice convincingly firm, “he’s not worth it.” His friend, who was also a good few inches taller than he was, looked to size him up for a fleeting second, before recognising who was speaking. With an angry snort of hot air through his nose like a bull, Wick released the grip he still had on Finn’s shirt, sending him once more collapsing to the ground.  Turning around to where Raven had been stood, Wick then wordlessly helped Bellamy hold her up, as he, in the conflict, had stopped Raven from hitting the ground when her legs finally gave out.

Sharing a wide-eyed look with Miller, Bellamy began to take Raven into the house, stepping over where Finn lay, and forcing himself into the ever-growing mass of people, who had bottle-necked the narrow doorway in their curiosity as to who was fighting. Angling himself so that he took the brunt of the hits from the mindless bodies standing in the entrance hall, Bellamy led Raven and Wick safely in to the house.

Looking over his shoulder in search for Miller, the eldest Blake couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his smaller, wiry friend dragging the all-but-dead weight of the 18 year old beside him, his arm slung around Finn’s torso. Behind him was Murphy, who was, marginally less compassionately, dragging the two lifeless boys over the threshold of the house by their feet. Looking ahead of him once more, Bellamy caught the gaze of an alarmed looking Octavia, and began making his towards her, when a sudden bang sounded from the corner of the room. The entire crowd snapped their heads at once to see a blonde girl in a tight black dress and a lanky boy in a hoody and black, ripped jeans, stepping out of a closet, their eyes covered from the light.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Jasper speaks first, turning red as an anonymous voice calls out; “Oh come on Jordan, nobody was thinking that!  You couldn’t score a thing of beauty like that if you hired her!”  At this, Bellamy instantly made a move to start in the direction of the voice, his jaw ticking in outrage, until he felt a hand of his chest. Wick, who was considerably calmer now, shook his head silently at his friend, his solid eye-contact speaking volumes. They needed to get Raven somewhere. Trying to shake of his anger, Bellamy turned back towards where Clarke was standing, catching her wide-eyed stare with his own look of confusion.

 A moment passed where it was as if nothing had changed. Like a flashback of the world ‘pre-apocalypse’ in a dystopian movie, all was calm. They were back to being Bellamy and Clarke.

Protectors.

Fighters.

Partners.

But that life seemed a world away to the one they were living now. They still had family to protect, still had battles to be won, but without the comfort of having someone to go to war with, what hope was there of living?

And who ever said there was such a thing as a happily ever after?

Clarke was the first to break eye-contact, her face immediately closing off, as if a switch had gone off inside of her. It made Bellamy’s heart hurt. Bad. This was just like looking at the old Clarke Griffin, when she used to shut him out, only worse, because now he’d had a glimpse of the paradise behind that defensive screen. 

The crowd around them had begun to mumble again. Suddenly, Monty appeared, ushering everyone away, back into the other rooms of the house. The volume of the music seemed to increase once more, conversation flowing faster than the alcohol.  Jasper and Clarke had made their way towards the group, Monty also approaching from the living room, until they were all gathered together by the door. Well, almost all of them.

“Where’s Tav?” Bellamy asked immediately to no one in particular, scanning the now empty room pointlessly.

“I didn’t see her,” Jasper said in response.

“She was right there!” Bellamy replied, clearly agitated, shifting Raven’s arm on his shoulder. She stirred at the movement, groaning loudly, but didn’t bother to raise her hanging head.

“We need to get her somewhere quiet, Octavia will be fine, she’s not a child.” Clarke snapped the first words she’d spoken to him in a week, making a point _not_ to look at him. Bellamy bit back the irritated response that was teetering on the edge of his tongue. Instead, he just twisted his face into a grimace, before nodding at Wick, and making his way to the stairs. To his surprise, Clarke stepped in front of him, leading the way. At the bottom of the steps, he heard Monty telling Miller where to get ice for Finn’s clearly broken nose, and Murphy seemed to be employing Jaspers’ help in getting the motionless boys into the closet. By the time they reached the landing on the second floor, both Wick and Bellamy were slightly out of breath, their muscles taut with the strain of hauling an unresponsive Raven up 2 flights of stairs.

“Where to now?” Wick panted, raising an eyebrow at Clarke, who had wordlessly guided them up the stairs, stopping in intervals to wait for them to catch up.

“Down the corridor, second door on your right,” she said, as if she was talking to two complete strangers who’d she’d never met before. Bellamy clenched his jaw.

“You’re not staying?” he asked, flatly, concentrating on keeping his face a neutral as hers.

“I’m going to get her a glass of water and a bucket. Lie her on the bed,” she said curtly, before turning on the spot, hair flying behind her, and making her way back down the stairs. Wick whistled lowly, eyebrows raised.

“Cold,” he said, before making off with his half of Raven in the direction Clarke had given, forcing Bellamy to stumble along after him.

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**10:00pm – Octavia**

“WOOOOO! Drink up motherfuckaaaaaaaa!” Octavia bellowed above the rhythm of the music as she potted her 5th ball in a row, right into the back left hand cup of her current opponent’s collection, winning yet another game. Mr Wallace could kiss her ass! Beer pong was her sport now, sayonara dodgeball.

Watching her opponent down his final cup in defeat, the youngest Blake readily accepted the congratulations offered by the strangers that had gradually gathered around the table over the course of the party. Then, after announcing her imminent retirement loudly and dramatically to her fans, dropped onto the lap of her ever patient boyfriend, who had been spectating bemusedly from a chair near the window.

From here, Octavia had a view of the entire front garden, as well as a minuscule proportion of the starry night sky. Her alcohol addled brain briefly wondered if the sky knew that this was the last night of the year. Lincoln’s strong, tattooed arms snaked around her waist, securing her seat on his thighs. Sighing contently, she rested her head against his chest, breathing in his familiar smell of car oil and smoke. Not like cigarette smoke, though. More like that of a distant barbeque, left to burn out, that tinges warm summer breezes and induces serious nostalgia. Tucking her head under his chin, the brunette lazily looked around the room, gaze never lingering too long. Her eyelids began to droop, but she couldn’t fall asleep! It was New Years Eve and she hadn’t seen Bellamy yet. Even if they weren’t exactly on good terms, she couldn’t just abandon him, they’d never spent a New Years apart! She would never abandon him. Never. 

She felt Lincoln’s chest begin to rumble deeply, comfortingly against her cheek as he started up in conversation with someone whom Octavia had her back to. Knowing this would only make her sleepier, the young girl strived to think of something to occupy herself with. Suddenly, she recalled a game, taught to her by Bellamy when she was still in pigtails. She had, of course, gotten too old for such things, she’d told him, but somehow now she was 17 and drunk, it seemed like the perfect game to play. 

This time, when Octavia looked around the room, it was with purpose. Once she’d found the object of her search, she began to play. The rules were simple, Bellamy had once told her, pick a face of a stranger (it had to be someone you didn’t know, that was important) and give them a story. Were they married? Did they have kids? Were they a cat or dog person? What was their favourite song? Did they have a sad memory? Were they a gambler? Did they go to church? Who did they miss?

Her brother was always better at it than she was, of course, inventing elaborate backstories of runaway criminals and princesses in disguise. He always had her gripping the edge of her seat, trying to distract her from whatever menial task he had had to drag her along to on that particular day. Grocery shopping, dentist appointments, the paper round (his first job). If Octavia hadn’t been so young, or so caught up in her brother’s fiction, then she might have caught the wanderlust that glistened in his eye when he pointed at a boy around his age on a train, and told her that he was a spy, sent by the CIA, and that he was on a top-secret mission. Of course, Bellamy had been ten at the time, Octavia barely eight, but that was already five years of responsibilities for the eldest Blake. Sometimes, you had to wonder if he was trying to distract Octavia from her life, of himself from his.

Three random faces later, and Octavia had already invented; a wanna-be pop-star, who is secretly obsessed with anime and is so superstitious that she avoids cracks in the sidewalk; a wizard, like from Harry Potter, who, during his holidays back from Hogwarts, likes to meet with his muggle friends to remind himself of his past life (you see, his dad’s a muggle, mam’s a witch). Her third face had turned out to be a girl who had never known her father either- she had that same empty look in her eyes- but that was soon rectified by the games-master herself, who arranged a surprise re-union of father and daughter, as it turns out he’d been on a special-ops mission for the American Navy all those years. Imaginary tears were shed, imaginary cake eaten etc etc… Octavia didn’t want to play this game anymore, it made her head hurt.

Tuning back into reality, she realised- with some degree of surprise- that her boyfriend was still in conversation. Usually one to listen rather than talk, Lincoln, as far as she knew, was as quiet as they come, yet he was still talking some twenty minutes later.  Straining to hear the conversation, she quickly realised the uselessness of that, as the music overpowered every other sound in a 10 centimetre radius of your eardrums. Growing more and more curious, Octavia turned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of a face, but the lighting was bad and there was too many people.

 Sighing in irritation, she moved to stand, feeling Lincoln steady her instinctively as her intoxicated legs trembled slightly, turning around so she was facing him again, her heart swelled when she met his eyes, staring up at her with a silent question. Was she okay? Smiling at him, she ran her hand absently down the side of his face, cupping his cheek with the full intention of kissing him… until she saw a hand wrapped delicately around his upper bicep. A pale hand, with neon-pink manicured nails and a shining signet ring on the middle finger. Cocking her head in confusion, she traced the hand up to a slender arm, paler still, which was attached to the body of a slim blonde girl, whom she vaguely recognised as a girl from the school corridors. What was her name? Barbara, maybe? Or Becky? She was a pretty girl, as pretty girls go, but her heart was as ugly as they come. And then the penny dropped. Bethany The Bitch. A senior cheerleader with an average GPA and an above average libido. Bellamy had brought her home once after a party. She was a screamer. Wrapped in a tight pink dress as bright as her nails, with a bow to match buried in her straw-like hair, Bethany was the spit image of a giant vagina. With the personality of Dolores Umbridge. Or maybe she was just Umbridge. Octavia wondered if she liked cats and torturing people.

Regardless, she had just interrupted what would have been a promising make-out session between the young Blake and her boyfriend. Perhaps she prefers being tortured herself. Octavia certainly wasn’t going to hold back now.

“Can I help you?” She queried, in that false tone that girls use when they hate the person they are talking to, but have to pretend like it’s a secret, even though everybody else knows it too.

“I don’t think so,” replied Bethany The Bitch, in that same tone, her bat-like eyelashes flickering rapidly, “I was just enjoying my chat with Lincoln here!” She turned to look at him when she said his name, bright pink lips stretching out thinly across her pastel face in what was supposed to be a flattering smile. Lincoln simply nodded once, confirming that he was in fact part of this “chat”. Nothing more. The girl, satisfied with his response, turned her pained smile back to Octavia, who returned it with a grimace of her own.

“Well your “chat” is over now, I’d like a minute alone with my boyfriend.”

“The boyfriend you just sat and ignored for twenty minutes?” she snorted. One of her friends lingering beside her giggled.

“Come again?” Octavia narrowed her eyes, feeling anger mixing with the tequila in her blood, creating a storm.

“Tav,” she heard Lincoln say. It seemed as though it was meant to be a firm calling of her name, but once again, the music had tampered with the sound, leaving only a faint trace of his voice in her ears, which were fast filling up with the white noise of rage.

“Honey,” Bethany The Bitch began, raising herself from her chair with an air of self-importance, lifting her chin as if to assume her full-height (which was at least a whole head taller than Octavia), “why don’t you go and be… well… anywhere else, and let the big girls play.” Her patronising tone made the shorter girl twitch. Lincoln was also standing now, and began attempting to slowly guide his girlfriend away from the fast approaching confrontation, but to no avail. When it came to their pride, the Blake’s would go down fighting.

“Okay, listen Barbie, there ain’t nothing for you here. Now bugger off.”

“Octavia,” Lincoln warned, louder.

“Oh no way!” the girl squealed like the pig she was, “Octavia… Blake! Bellamy’s sister! Well, you know what they say, the rotten apple doesn’t fall too far from the rotten tree,” she smirked, looking the Junior up and down with contempt. The giggler made an encore.

“Don’t you say a word against my brother,” she said in a barely audible tone which she fully expected to be lost in the bass of the music. However, the threat sounded out clearly around her, causing her to look around in confusing. The whole population of the room was moving, en masse, towards the archway that lead into the entrance hall. The music, which had been playing faintly in the distance, was now shut off completely, and as Octavia, Lincoln and the others from the beer-pong table joined the migration, the whole house was thrown into silence. Elbowing her way into the crowd, losing Lincoln in the process, Octavia wobbled slightly in her 6 inch, hot pink heels as she craned to see what everybody else was now gasping at.

There came a grunt from somewhere by the door, and then a thud, as if someone was dragging a large sack of potatoes across the threshold. There was more silence, in which Octavia managed to wriggle her way around the broad jock who had been blocking her view, making brief eye contact with one of the boys at the epicentre of the drama. Her own brother, Bellamy. She froze, mid-wiggle, willing her tipsy mind to connect the dots that made up the last 3 minutes of her life. There was an unexpected loud bang that suggested a door had been flung open over the other side of the entrance hall, making the entire crowd jump in unison, simultaneously breaking the gaze of the two siblings. Who had opened it remained a mystery to the brunette as, even with her added 6 inches, she was still the hobbit in the crowd.

By the time she got a look at the rabble in the doorway, someone from the opposite end of the hall had spoken, his words mumbled and inaudible to her. A voice from behind her, in the depths of the crowd somewhere, replied in a smarmy way, which made Octavia despise him instantly, even if she hadn’t been able to understand the context of the exchange. She was too busy being distracted by the two unconscious boys, stretched out across the wooden floor like rag-dolls. The male voice from the other side of the room spoke again. This time, Octavia managed to catch the words that floated around her like snowflakes, and they portrayed her exact thoughts, as she took in the scene before her.

“Holy shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come i swear!!!  
> sometimes i hate finn, sometimes i like him  
> but apparently when i wrote this chapter, i loathed his ass  
> love u all   
> be kinda to yourselves xoxoxo


	20. Shit hits the fan part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD REALLY BAD WRITERS BLOCK  
> BUT THEN THIS WEEK I REWATCHED THE ENTIRE FIRST SEASON  
> AND FFS CAN'T THEY JUST BE TOGETHER ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> SO I'M BACK
> 
> gracing you all with my presence!!!!
> 
> you are welcome
> 
> also, I really need to stop torturing the love of my life, Bellamy Blake.

Chapter 20

**12:30am – Monty**

Exactly two hours had passed since the fight between Wick and Finn, and thankfully, the party had quickly resumed its original swing. There had been another swell of commotion about a half-hour ago, signalling the end of one year, and the commencement of another. Or as Monty saw it, one year nearer to never having to do compulsory sport ever again.

Shortly after the fight, when the entire guest-list had crammed themselves into the smallest area of the house, Bellamy and Wick (lead by Clarke), had taken Raven upstairs, from where she was yet to have returned. Monty himself had taken a whining Finn and a grimacing Miller to the kitchen, where he, for the first time in his life, had to fight his way to his _own_ freezer. And Jasper had been left to aid and abet Murphy. Again.

And so exactly two hours had passed, and he was yet to see any of his friends since. He thought he caught a glimpse of Octavia in the crowd at one point, like Bellamy had earlier, but by the time he’d wrestled his way across the make-shift dance floor, she was gone, just like earlier. The countdown had come and gone, as anti-climactic as always, and for the 17th year in a row, Monty had screamed “Happy New Year!”, hugging the person closest to him, trying not to let his gaze wonder around the room on its persistent and instinctual hunt for Miller. (On a completely unrelated note, it was also the 17th year that Monty had celebrated a new year without being swept off his feet by a swooning kiss. Bummer.)

So 30 minutes into his New Year, and Monty still hadn’t been able to celebrate with any of the people he actually wanted to celebrate with. What a sucky start. Pouring himself another luke-warm beer from a keg in his kitchen, the slight boy began meandering his way through each room on the ground floor, no longer objectively looking for his so-called friends, who obviously weren’t making any effort to find him. Why should he wait around to congratulate them? Why should his chances of a good time suffer? He might have missed the dropping of the ball, but this party was far from over.

Famous last words, right?

Instead of searching for his friends then, Monty began inspecting the state of his house, not drunk enough yet to actually jump into to all the crazy shit happening around him. He occasionally joined in conversation with a few familiar faces as he passed by, never staying long enough to really start something though. He also received a lot of slaps on the back, a lot of congratulations, like it was an achievement to have made it to the start of another year. Standing a fallen picture frame back up on the mantel piece, Monty let the pads of his fingers hover lightly over the cool glass that separated him from that memory. He guessed it was an achievement. Not everybody made it.

“HEADS!” shouted a lacrosse player that Monty didn’t even recognise, just as a pineapple came flying over his head, hitting the wall behind him.

“What the fuck!” exclaimed the smaller boy, picking up the pineapple with a puzzled expression. There wasn’t even a pineapple in his house to begin with! Who brings a pineapple to a party? The lacrosse player, a tall, broad and dark-skinned guy, made his way over, immediately flashing a dazzling white grin in Monty’s direction. Upon not immediately recognising the face (okay he may or may not have memorised the senior team but again, nothing to do with Miller. Nothing. _Nada.)_ he assumed the boy to be part of the Junior team, which would mean he was in the same year as Monty. Again, it wasn’t as if he recognised him though, and he was hard to miss, towering a good 6 inches over Monty.

“Hey,” he said, his voice deep and pleasing, “sorry, I wasn’t aiming for you. I swear it!” He shifted his weight between feet uncomfortably, looking like a child about to be scolded. Monty could only smile back, his attention focused solely on the crazy length of the guy’s eyelashes.

“Erm, yeah, totally!” he said in reply, stumbling slightly over his words, “don’t, erm, don’t worry about it.” Bending down mid-sentence, Monty retrieved the now somewhat damaged pineapple off the floor, and handed it back to Long Eyelashes.

“Thanks man!” he grinned again, causing Monty to choke a little on his own breath. He had begun to turn away, back towards his friends group who were now hollering for more fruit to throw, when he seemingly had a sudden thought. “You’re Monty, right? Monty Green?”

Monty was taken aback by the question, his social anxiety spiking due to his complete lack of preparation for talking to Long Eyelashes for longer than 30 seconds.  Where was Jasper? He was the mouth of the pair, Monty was just the brains! Oh, the world is a cruel place, and Long Eyelashes was still awaiting an answer when he was suddenly pushed into the crowd by a slightly smaller, slightly narrower guy. This guy had dark skin too, broad shoulders and longer eyelashes that Long Eyelashes... shit, did he have a type? He was also a face that Monty recognised.

“Nate?” Monty couldn’t take the surprise out of his voice when the handsome boy appeared before him as if in a mirage.

“Hey,” he eased that smile that sent Monty’s heart reeling, “there you are! Happy New Year!” having to raise his voice in order to be heard over the constant thrumming of the bass, Miller leaned in closer to Monty, so that his breath tickled his neck. The younger boy felt goosebumps break out on his arms and neck, where hot air from Miller’s pleasantly-moulded mouth had graced the skin.

“Happy New Year!” Monty managed a reply, feeling his cheeks blush pink at the sight of another knee-weakening grin, but was unable to draw his eyes away from the intense stare of the hazel ones in front of him. A sudden crash from the hallway, followed by a loud cheer, however, soon broke them apart.

“Hey, erm,” Miller began, biting his lip and frowning a little, as if trying to focus on something important, rather than the proximity of their faces. “Have you seen Bell about? I lost him after the fight, wanna wish him Happy New Year and all that, you know!” Miller smiled again, a different smile this time, a fond one, touched by love at each corner of his lips. It was a smile saved for a mother, a father, or perhaps even, a brother.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him either! In fact, you’re the only one I’ve managed to say Happy New Year to.”

“No shit! Where is everyone? All these faces and none of them dudes I wanna see. Except for you, of course,” Miller quickly added, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in an adorably shy way that made Monty grin unabashedly, especially when he managed to displace his famous beanie in the process. Reaching up with a gleam in his eye, the younger of the two righted the hat, tugging it firmly down over Miller’s ears with practiced ease. Monty didn’t fail to catch the look of adoration that happened upon the senior’s eyes, before he leaned in once more to speak into the shell of his ear.

“I am so glad to see you too! But I would really like to find Jasper and give him my well wishes.” Instead of drawing back this time, Monty held his position, maintaining his balance by resting an innocent hand on Miller’s shoulder so that he could remain on tip-toe. To his delight, Miller seemed to play along, placing a large and warming hand gently on his hip, just so that Monty couldn’t pull away.

“I’ll help you find Jasper if you help me find B?” he suggested before adding, “I don’t want to lose you again.” His breath once again danced hotly over the prickling flesh of Monty’s neck.

“Okay,” was all he managed, as Miller slipped his free hand (the one not currently scorching a memorable hand-print on his back) into Monty’s, and began using himself as a wedge to part the crowd for the smaller boy, who followed his footsteps quite literally, so that his face was all but buried in the soft cotton of his white tee. Because of this compromising position, Monty relied solely on Miller to guide him around his crowded house, which was an odd sensation, but he trusted the boy implicitly, and therefore focused only on breathing in the scent of his shirt and placing one sneaker in front of the other. That was, of course, until they reached the stairs. Here, Monty was forced to emerge from his hiding place, so as not to avoid grievous injury (another bummer), but the ascent was necessary. He wanted to have a proper conversation with Nate, and, although he’d had no problems with the proximity of their latest encounter, Monty wanted to actually partake in a proper conversation, (with words and everything!) and having your mouth against someone’s shoulder blade doesn’t exactly leave room for small talk. Approaching the second floor, it pleased Monty to hear that the music was fainter upstairs, now all he had to do was think of something to say.

Oh God.

What does he say?!

The hand that was still locked into Miller’s began to feel clammy and Monty swallowed, hard.

_‘THINK OF SOMETHING!!’_ he screamed to himself, as they approached the first bedroom door in the corridor. Miller turned to him, smiling at him sweetly, before nodding in the direction of the closed off room. Monty forced a smile in return, hoping it looked sincere, before gripping the door handle and pushing it open slightly. A chorus of wanting moans seeped out of the crack he had created, causing him to flush profusely and slam the door shut again. Shooting a sheepish, sideways look at Miller, his heart fluttered slightly to see the older boy’s eyes crinkled at the edges in laughter.

_‘Beautiful’,_ Monty thought.

 “Well, I don’t suppose that was any of our friends?” Miller grinned down at him.

Monty swallowed to steady his shaky voice, “n-no, not unless Clarke and Bellamy have made up!” At this, Miller’s smile seemed to falter, and Monty hurried to change the subject. “Let’s try the next room! They’ve got to be here somewhere!” He turned, tugging the pensive boy behind him with their still-joined hands. They reached the second door, further away still from the music, which only made Monty panic more. No music meant more silence! What the hell did people talk about? Because right now, he couldn’t think of a single topic. Still facing away from Miller, he looked down the corridor in desperate hope of some inspiration. Spotting his old violin hanging up on the wall like art, he turned, mouth open, excited with the question he had formed in his mind. Only to be instantly silenced by Miller’s concerning frown.

“Wha-“ Monty began, startled into silence by Miller’s harsh shush. The older boy pulled his hand out of Monty’s and pressed his body against the door so that he was flush against it, his head facing Monty with his ear to the dark oak. He seemed to squint slightly in concentration. Opening his mouth again to ask him what the hell he was doing, the Junior couldn’t help but feel hurt when he was met with another, quieter, shush. Miller, seeing the hurt on the younger boy’s face, felt a pang of guilt, and was about to apologize when he heard it again.

 And then again! Louder this time.

A sound he had heard a million times growing up, when they were in the park, or at school, or at home. A sound he heard, without doubt, every day on the lacrosse field. A sound he’d woken up to, a sound he’d gone to sleep to. A sound he’d recognise for the rest of his life.

The unmistakable roar of Bellamy Blake.

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**12: 15am – Clarke**

She had returned to the room with water, a bucket, baby wipes and aspirin, closing the door behind her and making a conscious effort to avoid eye-contact with _him._

“Wick,” she unintentionally snapped, causing the dozing boy to start awake from his position in the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Try and wake Rave will you? It’s important she stays hydrated,” she said tossing the bottle she’d picked out the fridge to the boy as he lumbered out of his chair, her voice all mechanical and robotic, like she’d seen her mother do with patients all the time. No emotion. She could _feel_ him looking at her, like he saw right through her. It made her shiver.

He was emotion.

He was the emotion in her.

She didn’t look at him directly, tried to pretend like he didn’t exist, but her mind had already noted everything about him without her telling it to. She saw him without even having to open her eyes. Seemingly, his mere presence had the power to awake some sixth sense inside of her, that begged to be closer, closer, closer to him. So, as she walked over to the bed where Raven was sprawled, she fought the nagging voice in her head that begged her, ‘look’. And as she worked to wipe the sick off her friends face and dress, to work off her heels and remove her hoop earrings, it begged her, ‘look!”. And she didn’t. She couldn’t afford herself that luxury right now. She wasn’t as strong as she used to be. Kane had seen to that.

“Raven? Rave, baby, come on, open up. Lemme see those beautiful eyes,” Wick cooed, stroking the random strands of hair that crossed the sleeping girl’s forehead. He looked up at Clarke, who bit her lip in uncertainty, pondering their options.

“Let her sleep for now,” she concluded after a brief pause, “we will try again in half an hour.” Wick worried his lip between his teeth, looking down in concern at the girl he was hopelessly falling for.

“Are you sure?” he asked, not looking up.

Bellamy’s gaze burned her skin like lightening and made her blood hum.

_No._

“Yes, I am sure,” Clarke replied with as much conviction as she could muster. Mustering anything was a mammoth task when the majority of your energy was being channelled towards ignoring that enduring, nagging voice.

 ‘Look! Look!’

“Well… okay then,” Wick replied, uncertainty thick in his deep voice, “I’m gonna go and get some ice for this then,” he held up his bruising knuckles with a wry grin, “if that’s okay with you Doc.” Clarke gasped in dismay at the collaboration of deep purples that were blooming around her friend’s fingers which she’d failed to notice earlier. Leaning across Raven’s prone figure, she gingerly pressed her finger tips to them. Wick’s sharp hiss of pain made her instantly withdraw her hand to her side of the bed, however.

“Yes, yes of course!” she said with concern.

_No._

_Don’t leave us alone._

She smiled encouragingly at the blonde boy as he rose from his seat on the bed wearily, watched as he threw a kind smile towards Bellamy (who she still was not looking at, by the way), walked around the bed and out the door, shutting it soundly behind him.

She had her back to him, from where she was perched on the edge of the bed. Her heart hammered against her chest like a caged animal, shaking her whole body. She wished it would stop. The room was so quiet, she was worried he might hear it.

Minutes passed.

Excruciating minutes of silence.

Clarke traced swirls onto the white cotton of the bed sheets and pleaded him, in her thoughts, to exit the room. He hadn’t moved an inch, from what her sixth sense could tell her. When she had first entered the room, he had been leaning against the back wall on one shoulder, gazing out of the window, into the starry night. Ever since she’d crossed the threshold, he had maintained his position, but his eyes had been trained on her.

Unfortunately for her, there was nothing in the world quite so remarkable as Bellamy Blake’s eyes.

They were impossibly wise, yet held shadowed glimpses of a hopeful child within. In darkness, their colour was foreboding, an almost unbearable shade of the deepest brown, where all his secrets were kept. But in the light, they were incandescent. The whisky-auburn of an old soul, embedded with hints of emerald and sapphire and hazel, which betrayed his stern looks for his benevolent heart. In the light, oh, in the light they were a wonder to behold.

So much so, apparently, that their effects could be felt without even having to look directly at them.

She should never have come to this stupid party.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Her spine bristled at the sound of his voice, speaking aloud the very words she’d thought to herself only moments ago. Raising a hand to caress the sweaty forehead of a still unconscious Raven, Clarke still did not turn to him.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Sharp, stinging words.

“Princess I-“

At this, Clarke whipped round, coming to her feet in one swift motion, her hands clenched into fist against her thighs; “don’t. Don’t call me that. If I couldn’t call you Bell then, you can’t call me Princess now.” Her sixth sense was almost right, he was still leaning against the wall, as he had been when she’d entered, but his beautiful, wise old eyes were now sealed shut in distress. Her whole body was vibrating with anger, but his appeared to be sagging in defeat.

That didn’t bode well for what Clarke had in mind. She needed him to be just as worked up, just as enraged, if she wanted this conversation to get anywhere. The only way they ever seemed to air their emotions, was by screaming them at each other. The epitome of a health relationship. It’d been that way since they were enemies, even, their relationship always being about clash of strong-willed personalities. And how could she be ‘the ice’, if ‘the fire’ was already put out? After all, you can’t have Jekyll without Hyde.

“Why did you come here, Bellamy?” her teeth were clamped together, her voiced strained. He still didn’t open his eyes.

“Why did you come?” she said again, louder this time, with more assertion, in an attempt to get him to bite. She was once an expert in the tormenting of Bellamy Blake, don’t forget.

“Free Country.” Came the blunt reply. The blonde grimaced. Perhaps she was still an expert. How far they’d come indeed, when the successful perturbing of the captain of the lacrosse team was no longer a victory to her. Steeling herself for battle, she pressed on.

“Right, so I guess that means you think you’re permitted to do whatever the hell you want.” His biceps tensed. His jaw clenched. Yet his eyes remained shut. She took a step forward, staring him down, willing him to open his eyes and fight with her God Dammit!

“Because you’re King Bellamy Blake.” Another step. “Because you run the school.” Another step.  “Because every guy wants to be you and every girl wants to be with you.” Another two steps… she paused, close enough to him now to see the pulsing veins his forehead as he fought to restrain himself. From doing what, she didn’t know. She only knew that what she was about to say would spark that fire up within him again. Swallowing hard, Clarke willed herself to spit the words at him, knowing each one was a lie. “Every girl, except me.”

And suddenly, there he was. Bellamy Blake. Eyes wide open, burning with rage and pain and guilt, the perfect duplicate of her own. Two souls the same, two worlds apart. 

“What the hell do you want me to say, Princess,” he spat, his usually perfectly sculpted mouth, twisted into something ugly in his suffering. To see him like this again gave Clarke a thrilling feeling in the pit of her stomach, where, for days now, nothing but fear and agony had possessed her. If there was one thing that was absolutely undeniable about him, Clarke thought, it was that he made her feel alive.

“You need me to tell you what to say now? Don’t recall that stopping you bef-“

“Alright Clarke! I get it! I broke your trust. You hate me! So why don’t you just skip to the part where you tell me you never want to see, hear or speak to me, ever again?” Bellamy raised his voice over hers, cutting off her retort and stunning her to silence with his question. When she made no reply, standing not ten paces away from him, her lips parted slightly as she paused to think, he pushed off from the wall he’d been inclined against, squinting at her, as if trying to determine the answer himself. Cautiously, he took a step towards her, freezing in place when her eyes clocked the movement with the upmost suspicion. Despite this, she did nothing else to stop this advancement towards her personal place, which he in turn, interpreted as an indication that he could continue. So he did.

One slow step.

Another.

Three more.

Then she spoke.

It was a trembling voice, which cracked at the edges like fine china in a storm.

“You didn’t break my trust, Bellamy,” he stopped, two paces away from her, “you broke my heart.” And all at once, their shields, their armaments, their walls, came tumbling down in unison, as the horrible truth was spoken.

Biting her bottom lip, Clarke studied the tormented face of the boy she loved, the man she adored and respected, and felt the urge to forgive him on the spot, just so she could kiss him. But she was stronger than that. What was once paper skin, had turned to ivory, to steel, to stone. Clarke Griffin was BRAVE.

And she needed to let out her rage.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I’m sorry. But you had no right, no right, to do what you did! I want to trust you, Bellamy, but how can I? You humiliated me! Worse than that, y-you publicised my deepest, darkest secret… in front of everybody I’ve ever loved… and then you didn’t even give me a chance to explain! I’ve been doing damage control for days! You have no idea what could’ve happened because of you! I could’ve lost Ivy, my _sister_ , because of you!” At this, she pushed his chest firmly with the palms of her hands, brow furrowed in anger, eyes wild and glowering.

“That’s not even the worst bit about it though!” at this, she let out a harsh laugh, which turned into a heart-wrenching sob, “the worst bit is, that I know these are all the things I should be mad at you for. And I am! I am mad at you for them. But you know what sucks most, Bell? What sucks most is that, the only person I wanted to talk about this horrible fight I’d had with Bellamy Blake, was Bellamy Blake! And, when I was driving home that night, crying so hard that I had to pull over?  I wanted to call YOU,” she prodded him in the chest with her forefinger, forcing out her words in between sobs that were as painful to her chest as the look on his face. She kept on her tirade however, feeling another swell of rage consuming her. “Not Octavia, not Wells or Raven. You. Do you know what that’s like for me?” She pushed against his chest again. “When I keep telling myself that I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, only to find out that I can’t stop loving you?”

And that’s how Clarke was the first to cry. A sob bubbling from her throat suddenly, without warning. Covering her mouth with her hand, she tried to contain it, to swallow it back down into her stomach, but it only began to well up in her eyes, blurring her vision and dropping onto her cheeks. Drawing in a deep, heaving breath, she swiped the tears out of her eyes roughly, still unable bear to look at his face. She instead, focused on trying to ease the waves of fury that burned up her insides again and again.

Another sob burst from the small blonde’s frame, and Bellamy- who was stood further away as a result of not fighting Clarke’s attempts to push him- was compelled to close his eyes in the hope that it would shut off the hurt. Unsuccessful in this venture, he opened them moments later when her cries became more frequent, his own tears leaking out in between damp eyelashes at the sight of her. It was this image, this unexpected revelation of the true unhappiness within her character, which caused Bellamy to feel the familiar sting in his own eyes. A hand was still clamped around the lower half of her face in an attempt to muffle the weeping sound, whilst the other arm was clutched around her middle, as if she was literally trying to hold herself together. The cheeks which her tears had now soaked, started to blush pink with the compression of her grief. Her eyes were screwed shut and she cried louder with each contraction of her ribs.

Every muscle in his body cramped up with the overwhelming need to hold her. So he did. Rightly or wrongly (at this point he neither knew or cared which), Bellamy closed this distance between them in a blur of movement, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking her head under his chin. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath, waiting for her to push him away again, until she nearly squeezed it out of him, throwing her arms around his neck like she did on the day of their first kiss. Smiling into her hair, he entertained the idea that she was actually trying to strangle him. The tears dampening the front of his shirt suggested that it was in his best interest to keep that thought to himself. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her hair, committing its sweet smell to memory in case this was the last time he ever got to hold her. The very notion of that being true made his gut clench. He didn’t want to live without her. He desperately, desperately didn’t want to live without her! But that wasn’t up to him anymore. Everything she’d said had been true, and that cut him deeply, but Bellamy had lived long enough to know that he’d made his choice when he opened his big mouth and betrayed his best friend, and now he had to live with the consequences, whatever the consequences.

Swallowing the sobs rising in his own throat, the eldest Blake hugged the crying girl closer still, and said the only words left on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, Clarke. I’m so- so sorry.” Voice cracking as his own tears finally fell freely, Bellamy snuggled his face deeper into her blonde locks, and cried with her.

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**12:25am – Octavia**

“Murphy! Hey, Murpy!” Octavia slurred and stumbled over her own feet, as she tried to make her way around the zombie-like bodies that cramped up the entrance hall towards the familiar face she’d seen. She was on her way to hitting the ground when a hand, belonging to said familiar face, caught her elbow, hauling her up with practiced ease.

“Easyyyyy there, Baby Blake,” Murphy teased with the nickname he knew she had hated since the day she turned ten. He ruffled her hair too, for good measure. Hey, what were best friends of the big brother there for? Other than to ward off eager men, of course.

Grunting in annoyance, the youngest Blake sluggishly tried to swat away the hand that had already left her hair, which seemed to baffle her drunken mind, as she swung her head around wildly, trying to locate the hand in question. The sudden jerking motion, however, was almost enough to send her reeling to the ground again.

“Have you seen, have you, Bellamy,” she slurred again, head lolling to one side, almost incoherent.  Clearly amused by this performance, and well trained in the role of Bellamy Model 3.0 (Miller being 2.0, naturally) simply put a steadying arm around her shoulders, in the hopes of guiding her to a chair. Cooing, calming noises helped ease her distress, he found, and they were almost half-way to the chair when she seemed to spot another face she recognised, this time heading up the stairs.

“Monty, hey! HEY!” she shouted in anger when the boy did not turn around, all the while trying to wriggle out of Murphy’s vice-like grip on her upper arm. Turning back to him, she pushed him feebly with her free hand, an irritated “get off” being all she could manage in the way of words.

“He can’t hear you,” Murphy hissed in her ear, his constantly short-temper now burning close to being extinguished entirely. If it had been anybody else, he would’ve given up on trying to help them by now (gallantry wasn’t really in his nature), but he owed Bellamy his sanity, and the Blake’s were the closest thing he had to family. Besides, if he didn’t help her, and somebody else got to Blake Junior first, Bellamy would probably bounce his head off the sidewalk. With this in mind, he tightened his grip on her arm, and started to all but drag her to the chair, determination setting a grim line on his face.

After a couple of paces of trying to walk in the opposite direction of which Murphy was trying to drag her, Octavia seemed to tire, and instead let herself be led like a  disobedient child to the naughty step. Once they’d reached their destination, she let herself be pushed down onto the chair, her body swaying even when seated, and inclined her head to stare up at her guide.

“You need to sober up.”

“No!” Octavia whined, trying to reach up with both hands to grip Murphy’s shoulders in a vain attempt to stand again.

“Yes!” He replied dramatically, adopting the petulant pout she’d begun to sport, and gently pushing her hands back onto her lap. Then, bending his knees so he was crouching down in front of her, John Murphy, for the first time in his life, took the hands of a girl in his own and stared into her eyes.

“Stay. Here.” The instructions were given slowly, enunciated perfectly, and delivered with a facial expression that read; ‘don’t move from here you little shit’. Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen to attain a glass of water for his patient, not stopping to apologise as he elbowed people out of his way. 

Unfortunately for John Murphy, the facial expression that read; ‘don’t move from here you little shit’, was not one that an intoxicated Octavia recognised. As she sat, swaying mindlessly in the entrance hall, she began to absentmindedly hum lullabies to herself, scanning the crowd for faces she knew.

Jasper! She could’ve sworn that was Jasper! Just at the top of the stairs! Remembering what Murphy said about not being heard, she decided that she’d just have to catch up with her friend instead. Despite this new plan, the action of standing up so abruptly had her almost falling back down again, her vision swimming. Wearily, she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, in the hope that that would correct her vision. It definitely did not improve her ability to see what she wanted to see, however, as what was in front of her now was something she’d rather be blind to. The smarmy face of Bethany the Bitch.

“Awhhh, is it past little Octavia’s bed time?” cooed the taller girl, her harem of mini-Satan’s giggling around her.

“Piss off out my way,” the olive-skinned girl fumed, her words mushing together still, which only made the girls (who were now barring her way) laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Bitchy Barbie leaned forward slightly, curving one delicate hand around her diamond accented ear. More giggles from the harem.

“Whatever,” Octavia mumbled, pushing past them as she headed for the stairs once more, concentrating on lifting her leg up to take the first step. She was looking down at her feet the whole way, making sure that she didn’t misplace her stilettos, which is why it took her until the seventh step to realise that Cerberus and co. had followed her up.

“So!” she began again, in her high-pitched, corny, cheerleading voice, “Where’s that boyfriend of yours run off to then?” She skipped up the steps alongside Octavia (who was having to use the bannister to drag her way up) with ease. When she received no reply from the younger girl, she pressed on, eager to hit a nerve and assert her place once more as Queen Bee.

“Or better yet, where’s that shit stain of a brother?”

Three stairs away from the top landing, the younger Blake ceased her incline, her mind fuzzy with the numbing haze of alcohol. She may have been drunk, but she wasn’t drunk enough to take any shit about Bellamy. Hell, she’d rise from the dead to defend her brother. Before she could reply, however, Bethany, having found the nerve she was looking for, resumed her unrelenting attack on the Blakes.

“You see, he wouldn’t usually be my type, being a pauper and all, but I’ve heard he’s a good fuck, so maybe I can buy his dick with a five dollar bill or something!”

As soon as the blonde had opened her mouth again, Octavia had set her mind back to the problematic task of trying to get up the stairs, so by the time Bitchy Barbie had said “five dollar bill”, the now seething Junior was one wooden stair above her adversary. The higher ground indeed. Turning to face her rival, Octavia used her hand on the bannister to block the girl’s way, effectively trapping her between her own gang of losers (who had loyally followed her up the stairs), and Octavia’s own rage.

Gripping onto the bannister tightly, so as not to lose balance, the slim brunette teetered forwards, until her face was inches above Bitchy Barbie’s. Sneering down at her, she said “don’t ever, ever talk shit about my brother again. He may be poor, and have a reputation sexually, but even he wouldn’t sleep with an STI ridden trollop, like you.” It came as a pleasant surprise when her words sounded clearly in her ears, without a trace of her previous slurring. A significantly less pleasant surprise was the slap across the face from Bethany, which sent her stumbling into the wall opposite the bannister.

“HEY! What the fuck!” Octavia yelled, clutching her cheek in shock and pain. Memories of that horrible night with Atom, flooded to the forefront of her mind, blinding her for a moment. Or was that the alcohol? She really needed a lie down.

Suddenly, Bethany’s face was immediately in front of hers, closer than they’d been before. The older girl’s eyes were filled with venom, just like her words.

“Who do you think you are? You jumped up little brat!”

Octavia, face still stinging, mind still intoxicated and anger level still rising, felt that the only justified response to this insult… would be to shove the bitch away. Which she did. Only to have her back up in her face seconds later, pink false nails digging into the exposed flesh of the younger Blake’s shoulders and ramming her back into the wall again, shrieking in fury all the while.

Luckily, the commotion was beginning to draw attention, and just as Bethany moved her hands to close around the neck of the girl in her grasp, an unlikely hero made his way towards them from where he’d been drinking on the top landing. Jasper, his hands wrapping round the wrists of the pretty blonde he’d started the night crushing on, tried to pull her off of his friend, but to no avail. She was stuck fast, her arms now shaking Octavia vigorously, so that her brain bounced around in her skull, causing an alarming amount of nausea.

“Woah! Woah, hey!” came another hero, Miller, towing an alarmed looking Monty behind him. Being stronger than Jasper, the former managed to force Bethany’s hands off a now barely-conscious Octavia, thanking the heavens when, just in time, a concerned looking Wick appeared from the throng of shrieking girls who were still blocking the stairway, catching the falling Blake before she tumbled down the stairs. No sooner had he righted her on the top step, when Bitchy Barbie started going in for round two, yelling insults and vulgarisms at the top of her voice.

It was this uproar that roused Clarke and Bellamy from their tender moment, drawing them away from a still unconscious Raven and out into the jam-packed hallway. It took them a further few minutes to suss what was going on, but once the general conclusion of ‘girl fight’ had been deduced, Bellamy forced his way through the crowd, oblivious still to whom was involved.

Back at the scene of the fight, it was taking both Wick and Miller to push a still screaming Bethany away and up the stairs, out of reach of Octavia, who was now completely dependent on the wall behind her to keep her upright. The blonde Senior did not go quietly, however, thrashing her arms and kicking her legs in every and all directions, lashing out at anyone who was close enough to hit. Monty took a swift kick to the knee-cap, which had him crying out in pain. Instinctively, Miller turned at the sound, trying to assess his younger companion, but in doing so, lost his grip on the ever-vicious Bethany.

Meanwhile, at the very bottom of the staircase, a now vexed Murphy was clearing Bethany’s harem with threats of physical violence being displayed if they were not to “disperse immediately, creepy little gremlins”. Apparently, this method was very effective, as the teenage girls all but fell over each other to clear the staircase before Murphy could reach them.

Back on the staircase, having fought for her freedom, Bethany had her hands back around Octavia’s shoulders, and was continuing to shake her, in spite of the gangly boy with the goggles who was now all-but clinging to her back in a useless attempt at dragging her away.

Upstairs, Bellamy was having less luck than Murphy at dispelling a crowd. Pushing and shoving people aside, he heard the familiar boom of his best mate’s voice from the bottom of the staircase, saying something about gremlins, but over the racket of the excited mob which caged him in, he was unable to make out the nature of the fight. As he neared the top of the stairs, he glanced the top of a beanie he’d recognise anywhere. Before he could reach it, however, there was one last shriek, followed by a series of rhythmic thuds, and then silence. A sickening silence, which twisted Bellamy’s gut and had him running the last couple of yards until he was standing on the precipice of the very last step.

That’s when the first scream started.

Then another.

Then another.

Blood-chilling screams.

Clarke, having followed in the wake of Bellamy, stood beside him, her heart dropping down into her stomach and then some. Wick grabbed a fistful of hair in his hand in horror. Monty and Jasper sobbed silently, and Miller was all but pinning Bethany to the floor, where he’d thrown her at the sound of the first thud.

Standing at the bottom, having cleared the stairs of bodies’ only moments ago, stood a pale looking Murphy, with one last body lying before him.

Bellamy, having started down the stairs in sheer panic, flung his arm over the bannister as he felt his legs give way beneath him. “Oh please, God, no!” he cried out into the unnatural silence that had befallen even Bethany, “get up, O, please. Wake up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want them to be together someone send help xxxx


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